


The Runaways

by lrviolet



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrviolet/pseuds/lrviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While facing the brink of her parents’ separation, Sarada Uchiha suddenly disappears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It has only been an hour since she arrived, but she already feels a reflexive urge to leave. Though aware how futile of an attempt that will be, Sakura avoids his gaze, deciding it is what's causing her uneasiness. And she is right, except it gets harder when the man keeps looking at her like she's the newest prized specimen in a high school science fair.

In dire need of distraction, she thinks about sutures again, holding out the patient's arm, patching up scratches: the cut bloodied her hand gloves, soiled. The procedure has then not been the easiest, since she is to deal with a child – who, after being brought to the emergency room, wails persistently about the accident. His mother is rushed to another corner, needing the most attention, but she distracts him (as she insists this event will distract her from what's in front of her now), repeatedly telling the boy of seven all will be fine,  _all will be fine_ , until the boy sleeps through surgery.

Tsunade relieves Sakura of her duties afterwards, faithfully reminding the younger medic that she is seeing her husband today. The latter replies with an unsolicited (or really, Tsunade must have saw it coming) swearing. Not in total spite, because Tsunade is still her boss, the head doctor, a mentor and senior – and Sakura can't afford to lose her job.

And now she's here, her index finger monotonously tapping the armrest as she listens, her eyes constantly, and quite unabashedly scrutinizing him. Admittedly, she still finds her husband's appeal unchanged since the first time. And that's what worries her.

Maybe because at some point she's forgotten, repressed somewhere in the back of her head, the first time her heart drummed frantically at the sight of him, how it felt then to be his. All shelved in the abyss of her subconscious, slowly resurfacing at the sight of him.

He is here now, in the flesh, still composed, aloof – pitch-black orbs nonetheless staring at her blankly. When he's taken notice that they are having a silent death stare game, he is first to shift and look away.

He looks disarrayed. Needed a haircut even, Sakura almost suggests. He's developed heftier creases under his eyes, weighed with stress, darker than the last time she's seen him. The rest of his features remain attractively chiseled, marred now with time yes, but like wine, the Uchihas age with divine exquisiteness.

His attorney, the redhead, meticulously discusses the protocol during proceedings, and occasionally Sasuke Uchiha throws his signature eye roll to show his impatience. Sakura Uchiha notices this, and had it been five years back, when he had yet distanced himself to take over the family business, she will have willingly remedied it with some bedtime shenanigans.

She's extra careful not to entertain those ideas when she's inches away from him.

"Uzumaki," the woman beside Sakura drawls. "First of all, I skipped lunch thinking we'd have something to eat in this little goddamn meet up. Second, we're not getting paid for this so please, calm the fuck down. Lastly, giving them the rundown is a waste of time. This is not the first time they've had court hearings. Besides, isn't mediation done to avoid  _exactly_ that?"

"I was also told the lawyers aren't supposed to butt in during mediation," voices the oldest one in the room, his hair still the same shade of gray since before but thinner now, a part of his scalp briefly exposed if one stared long. "The sight of you ladies came a little of a shock. I thought I was going to have a reunion with these kids alone."

Squinted bleary eyes, he looks at both parties: his former students back when his profession had been worth passing time and the bones in his knees allowed him to climb until the fifth floor of the school building.

He shuffles the documents he scanned earlier in the session, face scrunched together as though thinking of a befitting solution to the predicament, other than the small talk between the spouses forcibly exchanged. He's been otherwise terribly unhelpful and facetious, that Kakashi. Sakura knows he would rather indulge himself in an  _Icha Icha_  book than be stuck as a mediator in this division of marital assets and, dare she agrees, child custody.

Sasuke's counsel clears her throat and pushes her glasses up to focus on Sakura. "The pre-nuptial agreement is up for review, if you wish to read it, Mrs. Uchiha."

" _Karin_ ," intones Sakura's lawyer, rubbing her temple. "Please, can we just let them talk?"

"They won't talk when we don't address them questions and topics to discuss, Temari-san!" Redhead says, crossing her arms.

"You're worse than those baby prosecutors."

Sardonically, Redhead smiles. "You can say I've grown quite a bit into adolescence, hm?"

"A wayward little cunt," Temari mutters with a darker smirk.

Kakashi props an elbow on the table, chin supported by his left knuckles. "I don't really care whether or not you two should pursue this divorce, but I'm impressed you had a pre-nuptial. Makes everything  _so much easier_." The derision leaking in his voice makes Sakura inwardly gag.

After a minute of standstill, Sakura takes one deep breath, and says, "I'm not settling with this."

She checks Sasuke for a reaction but he offers nothing but an indifferent scowl. Temari however leans back in her seat with a smug smile and Karin, though notoriously known for her reputation of 22-0 as a rookie lawyer before, turns to Sasuke for a rebuttal. Yet, again, he stays unfazed.

With this, Sakura picks up the white hospital coat folded on the armrest, stands and then slips into it. "If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment at five o' clock."

Peeved, Redhead –  _Karin, was it?_  – gets up as well. "No one's asking you to settle. Reconsider the fact that Sasuke only wants what's best for your daughter, too."

Sakura adjusts her collar, pulling down her medical robe as if lowering will completely shroud her out of their sight.

"Look, can we schedule another session? I promised Sarada I'd be home early." Everyone in the room is aware she's addressing this to Sasuke, but her sea green eyes instinctively search for something else in the room.

Her resolve? Maybe. Dwindling now at the sight of her husband after months of his absence.

Sasuke's lips part as if to say something and then closes. Karin's hand falls on his shoulder, before he hums an affirmative reply at Sakura. Silence ensues but Sakura turns for the door, Temari already at her heels.

"Tell Sarada Happy Birthday," Sasuke says –audibly at least– at the last minute, just when Sakura moves for the knob, a wife catching her husband's voice lightly jarring at the name of their child. She looks over her shoulder, but as expected, his facial features provide nothing but the usual.

She leaves with a nod, a dissatisfied one, and they are at the medic's car when Sakura exhales out the air she unknowingly held the whole time, an inflated balloon as she sags into her seat. Temari can swear the other woman's eyes have started to leak before her lids shut them tight.

"They're screwing."

Despite understanding how sensitive divorce cases are, the blonde lawyer chuckles at Sakura's expense. "With your head? Yeah, I've noticed."

"You know what I mean," Sakura exclaims mildly, settling herself behind the wheel and lowering her window. "Can't she get disbarred for that?"

"Sexual relations between counsel and client, huh? Not unless it's grossly immoral or made known to the public," Temari responds. "I mean, if it's just hunches from an ex-wife, I don't think that's enough proof to win a disbarment case."

Sakura snorts, unconvinced but thankful. An eventual smile curves across her face. "Thanks for today. What would I do without you?"

"Get fucked over, that's what," Temari shakes her hand, shrugging. "Mediation setups don't need lawyers so when you called that Uzumaki was appearing, I just had to make sure Karin's not gonna say anything that will upset either one of you. She's tolerable though, so don't let her get to you."

Sakura squeezes the hand brake, tugs, and reverses her Chevrolet sedan in the parking lot, hand out and waving at the attorney seen from the side mirror. Her phone ceaselessly beeps a familiar tune as she drives west, racing for home in hopes the sight of something domestically friendlier will ease the otherwise unpleasant day.

* * *

 

"You sure you don't want one?"

"Shikadai, these things will kill you."

"And yet my old man's still standing on both of his two feet."

The cigarette in between his lips tips a little with his smirk, the excess falling off easily at the end. The bigger between the two girls pretends to gag but accepts from him a lighted one then puffs. The school roof deck is a haven in its own merit, a place to smoke and watch the sun coat the sky in pigments of orange, pink and blue. Without the interruption of nosy homeroom teachers, peer counselors, or even the student police, the afternoon reeks of rebellious teenage souls and cheese flavored potato chips. The floor is damp, from the afternoon rain, but bearable.

"Sarada?"

The girl hums a response, a stick offered in her direction. She shakes her head, pulls out her glasses and wipes the lenses with the hem of her shirt, a smile replacing her refusal. "No thanks, Chocho."

Shikadai, hair tied up in such a prominent shape of a pineapple's crown, grimaces. "I bet Boruto didn't mean to. Come on. You don't need to get all mopey around here."

"I'm not  _mopey_ ," says Sarada, attaching back her specs to deliver a restrained glare at her tall friend. "I'm just… you know. We're friends. We ended it on good terms – " she fidgets a little before grabbing a stick and lighting it. She blows one controlled huff, then two more, letting a few minutes pass them in silence.

"It's just not fair how he can walk right past me at lunch without even greeting me. He owes me fifty bucks from the last time I covered for his ass for driving him to the football game. And yes, I'm very sure he knows it's my birthday," Sarada inhales the last one, and then breathes it out. "He spent the entire morning with Mitsuki. The fact that today was my birthday not being slipped into one of their conversations is highly doubtful. What kind of -"

Stopped midway, Sarada looks down at a new stick balancing in between her teeth. Chocho flicks a lighter over her mouth for convenience.

"Boyfriend?" she chimes. "An _Ex_ , 'is what he is. Since, oh I don't know, like six months ago? Girl, you gotta move on."

Dryly, the Uchiha exhales a drag before she drops it entirely – pressed embers by her heel. "I'm meeting mama in a bit, I can't smell like my funeral."

"My mom says it'll bite me in the ass one day, but that never stopped me," Shikadai adds, replacing his burnt stick with another.

"She won't like it either knowing you finished an entire pack. Again." A third party privy to their little hideout emerges from behind the water tank, frowning and crossing his arms as he approaches them. His platinum blonde hair stands out amongst others, tied in a fashioned ponytail, sticking against his awfully paper white skin. Shikadai's glower proves the visitor he's right.

"Yeah, but some of us here are old enough to tuck ourselves in without mommy's good night kisses. Thus we get away with it."

Exchanging a shake with his pal, Inojin grins. "You're gonna hold that against me forever, aren't you?" To which Shikadai meekly replies with little buzz. He moves on to Sarada, his hand snaking to the small of her back before he presses a kiss against her forehead. She doesn't move away from his ministrations, exceeding her kind of affection, but Inojin's Inojin, and Sarada knows how lucky she is to have him.

"Got caught up in the labs because the inter-school math decathlons are coming up," he announces. "We're heading to Iwa this year."

Inojin then focuses on meeting her gaze. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

Chocho snorts. "God, get a room."

Chuckling, Inojin nods at her. "I'll be taking her home now, you guys mind?"

Shikadai shrugs and waves dismissively, before both hands drown in the deep of his pockets. Chocho ramblingly gurgles something about her closest friends being in love, clasping the two of them in her arms in a tight embrace.

"Happy birthday again, Sarada!" Chocho squeals in delight. "Oh and wear protection, Inojin, I ain't ready to be an auntie."

"Like he forgets about that," Shikadai bets, to which his two friends blush full red. Although Shikadai protests slightly of his inclusion, Chocho already extends her arm to pull the grouch into the group hug, defeated by the sappy crew.

* * *

 

She rolls up her sleeves while he rolls down the window of his dad's old blue Mustang. Sarada, with her glasses and her hoodie and her hapless untied shoelaces, bends down to look at Inojin, as he cracks a smile of his own.

"I got you a present," he says.

Sarada eventually slips into the shotgun seat, sporting a vanilla-musk scent that sticks to the car. Cloaked by linen, the said birthday gift peers at the back seat, to which she lets out a soft giggle. A portrait. Hand-drawn like always because sepia artistry with blacks and whites and grays, has been Inojin's favorite.

He doesn't ask for a thank you, because her excited grin loosely denotes pretty much the same thing. He doesn't press the accelerator as soon either, when he sees she hasn't buckled up her seatbelt yet, and much like a father to a daughter, Inojin stretches across her, neatly tucking Sarada back. Before he could settle behind the wheel however, a finger hooks his chin towards her face and her lips crash over his.

She's been smoking again, he tastes, but it does not deter his excitement. Short lived the kiss may have been, Inojin does enjoy her spontaneity so he pulls back to say something but realizes the tears welling up in her eyes and for once Inojin draws back and starts the car, letting the silence envelope the twilight.

When they pass the bridge to the residences, she sighs and leans against the glass. He smells the dryness of spring, crisp and fine as it wafts against their open windows.

"It's going to be fine," he begins, apprehensive. "You don't have to face it alone."

"My parents are getting divorced," she squeaks, but in a firm tone, the way she always speaks after a storm. "I think I'm failing one of my classes. Boruto still won't talk to me. I doubt I'll get into a good college. Summer is three months away and nothing's going right. I turned fucking seventeen today, why isn't my life the shit yet?"

Inojin extends his free hand to get a hold of hers, then squeezes. She's looking at the road but she can feel him smile from the way he tells her, "It'll get better." Like a damn promise. And Inojin's consistent with never breaking those.

"Wanna bet?"

"I bet you'll get into Konoha National University," Inojin asserts, encouraging, before adding in a whisper, "We'll both get in."

"I bet…" she pauses, then smirking at the possibility. "I'll get picked up from a gay bar two months after graduation but it's okay 'cause it's not like my parents care. The last time I saw my dad was five years ago, and he doesn't bother to stay in touch. Mom, on the other hand, doesn't even give a fuck about whether or not he's coming back so I guess their separation was inevitable. All they needed was some finality. And viola, you got yourself two thanksgiving events to attend every year!"

He turns at a curve towards another lane, less traffic, less people; the streetlights aren't blinding his headlights and the sky appears softer than velvet. "I'll be at that gay bar all the time, if that's the case."

Suppressing her laughter, she hits his shoulder, her other hand covering her mouth. "You'll fit right in looking as gorgeous as any girl I know." Both of them start to snicker it off imagining, for nothing, for whatever it is that hurts, for whatever is that may still live on hurting.

"Part of my job description," he responds, as though reading her mind.

She looks outside now, still beaming. "What is?"

"Make Sarada laugh, duh."

No matter how many times she's used to the amount of tacky lines he throws, she gives him credit for taking her aback sometimes, now feeling her face tense and hot. She prays he doesn't notice, because he always takes advantage of such petty butterflies. She can't remember the last time he doesn't, though. Perhaps it is the way he has been brought up, showered with Aunt Ino's unfading adoration and Uncle Sai's careful guidance. Inojin's spoiled with much affection (and naturally he gives it back in every possible way to other people), but he never takes any of it for granted.

The guy's a walking perfection, the one in every high school girl's wet dreams, and he belongs to  _her_. Even when she's messed up and damaged. Then again, who else isn't?

"Thanks."

"It's part of my job," Inojin says once more, eyes curving along with a smile. They pull over in front of her house, and he hands her the portrait. "It took me a week to get it done. I hope you like it."

Sarada bites her lower lip, staring at her shoes instead. "You know I like everything you do." When they decide to part, he shifts forward uncomfortably, as if there still some words left unsaid or things not yet done, a hand rubbing the back of his neck when Sarada turns again to see eye to eye.

"Driver needs to get paid."

Taking into account that her mother is already home before she is, Sarada rushes back from the front porch to peck his cheek. She disappears through the front door and he ends being behind the wheel once more. Inojin beats the horn with two pumps as he exits (she hates that because the noise scares the quiet neighborhood), his car disappearing at the bend. Her onyx eyes modestly follow him before allowing reality to kick in.

She bets on him a lot.

* * *

 

"Did you burn something in here?"

Caught half-trying to save the cake from a disaster out of the oven, half-twisting a smile to greet the young girl walking into the kitchen, Sakura starts to feel her age. She's in her late thirties now, which is never really an issue when you're a doctor and still following a strict healthy regime to staying fit.

But assessing Sarada's looks now reminds her of Sasuke in so many ways, not just in how she predominantly inherited most Uchiha features. Her jet-black hair is cut hanging just millimeters above her shoulders, curves now more pronounced than they have been in the last years, height even standing few centimeters taller than Sakura herself. Other than these, her fondness for black doesn't go unnoticed either – black nail polish, black phone case, black backpack.

This is what seventeen looks like. Gone are the dolls and the bedtime stories and the fright from the monsters under her bed and the starry camp outs with family.  _Family_ , excluding Sasuke and more of Itachi or Shisui, or even Ino or Naruto – whoever otherwise has been available then in the duration of Sarada's childhood, to fill in the gap her husband's been making.

She sets aside Inojin's gift, her mother locating her seat in the lengthy uncrowded table. "Mom."

Sakura gulps before erupting into her most festive cheer. "Happy birthday, my Sara-chan!"

There is blueberry cheesecake, fresh from the oven. Two boxes of, from the smell of it, Teriyaki Chicken and Sliced Bacons pizza. A bowl of mashed potatoes on the side. Sakura's knack for sweetness matches Sarada's to a leveled degree and they always end up on the same page when it comes to food. Even though half of the time her mother cooks the most terrible of dishes.

"Mitsuki gave me his collection of Disney movies. We should start loading up the old DVD and watch some tonight."

Sakura attempts to avoid her daughter's stare. "I'm afraid we have to postpone movie night, honey."

Her guilt bubbles out faster when Sarada pursues her lips, already grasping what she meant by that. "You promised me you'll stay the night, Mom! Or did you just happen to forget?"

The rosette-haired woman guiltily slices the pizza open, hoping at some point, it will placate Sarada like how food always does. Maintaining composure, Sakura exhales wearily.

"Sweetie, something came up at the hospital and they really need me. They called an hour ago, and I told them I'd need to have dinner with my daughter first. They can't perform the surgery without me. I promise as soon as the amputation is over and I've completed the procedure, I'll be here."

"Yeah, what else is new?" When she passes the box to her, Sarada seem to have toned down, calmly shaking her head and refusing to show her disappointment, other than the very evident pout. Sakura's been a mother for seventeen years – she prides being able to read her daughter well.

They sit in silence indulging in the pizza, slice after slice, before Sakura notices what Sarada came in with earlier.

"So you and Inojin started dating," Sakura says, more of a statement than a question, eyeing the portrait.

Sarada swallows, hardly looking up. "And you're divorcing my father."

It takes a minute for the words to register in Sakura's head. Her forehead creases at Sarada's knowledge. Either she's concurring for or against, Sakura can't quite discern. So she replies with, harsher than she has hoped to come out, "You can say it's getting there."

"How's Papa?"

Both her hands fall rather heavily, impatient, trembles like a mini earthquake across the dining table, glasses nearly knocked over at the shock.

"Really, Sarada. You want this conversation?"

The peal from her cellphone saves them both from a rather unquestionable skirmish, pleasantly a tune from ten years ago that Sarada has heard but never liked. She glares at her mother before equally tipping her chair back.

"You better go," she says in defeat, taking now Inojin's gift by her armpit and swinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'm not that hungry anyway and they need you at the hospital."

When Sakura picks up and Shizune demands for her presence as soon as possible, Sarada disappears back to the bedroom she almost never leaves. Only when she hears the engine out of the garage and into a good distance does she bawls like a child, muffling the sobs into her pillow. She stares back at Inojin's art, leaned against the back of the door for now, a portrait of Sakura with long tresses in her apron, and herself at age seven, entering grade school at the Academy.

Ten years back, when things hadn't been as fucked up.


	2. Chapter 2

He walks into the office of Konoha's Uchiha Wine Corporation with long strides, employees looking up from their boards and computers as the very proprietor lo and behold, presents himself to them unannounced. To his side, they all whisper, is his assistant, although looking roughly more like a servant to a god at this rate, with his toothy grin and jumpy but rather damp demeanor.

"You didn't tell me you were keeping all the pretty employees in the Konoha branch," he whispers to Sasuke, who had been walking two steps ahead. "I would have filed an instant transfer."

"Shut up, Suigetsu."

Jabbed by the ribs, he looks up to see one of his least favorite persons in the world, vexingly now prompting her glasses up and glaring. Always  _fucking glaring_  at him like he's committed a felony against her person. "God, you're still here? I thought you left for Oto yesterday."

She huffs, crossing her arms. "My presence is far required here than yours is so I wonder why  _you_  still haven't left -"

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an assistant executive -"

"His personal secretary, you mean?"

He rolls his eyes dismissively. "It's not the same thing."

"It most definitely is," Karin hisses, throwing her red hair over her shoulder. "And if it isn't, I'll gladly shave the left side of my head."

Sasuke halts, turning around at the two, looking rather sullen. "Don't you two have better things to do?" He drawls, towering over them.

Right after the relentless exchange of elbow prodding and menacing death glares silence ensues and the two waits for the Uchiha to address them with their respective assignments for the day. Ignoring both with a sigh, Sasuke instead continues to the often-unoccupied office labeled Senior Supervisor on it, briefly knocking on the door of one of his older and more favorite persons in this side of town.

"I wasn't expecting you to be early," says the man, dropping both of his legs previously raised atop his desk.

Sasuke offers a smirk. "When did you ever expect me, Shisui."

"Honestly?" He stands, approaching the man, a benign smile etched as he grasped him in a robust embrace. "When Itachi confessed he wanted a younger brother, and your parents found it impossible to hide the surprise from the rest of the clan."

Shisui retains his youthfulness for some reason; someone aged fifty-two cannot absolutely look a decade younger. Even his disheveled hair still possesses an Uchiha tint of darkness in it, and his eyes, though bigger than Sasuke's, reminds the latter of his mother's – forgiving, hopeful, and so determined.

With this Sasuke manages to laugh. "Itachi always got what he wanted, didn't he?"

Shrugging, Shisui looks over Sasuke's shoulder at two of his company, to which the former merely signals them to proceed in if they have any other business, but Sasuke tilts his head and says, "That will be all for now, Suigetsu, Karin. I need to discuss important matters with Shisui."

Suigetsu tenses in confusion, pointing at the documents he gathered. "Will you not need me in discussing the logistics? Isn't that why you dragged me along as early as nine in the morning?"

Sasuke holds out his arm at him, before the man, pouting, submits his paperwork to his superior.

"We're terrible in the upper state. There seemed to be some product returns in Ame, and the net loss is threatening. Distributor factors have changed course over the last three months, and it's not looking good," Suigetsu briefly starts nonetheless as Sasuke opens the folder. "I've devised several strategies for overall quality networking. Most of our branches responded in concurrence but like I said, upper states such as Kumo and Iwa are suffering from bad debts so they are in no rush to consider a tactical change. Wine cannot spoil, but they've overestimated the supply in the last month. Hence, revenue returns are slow. These reports just came in last night when I checked the e-mail."

"Your job is shitty," Karin murmurs at the end of his speech, but stirs nothing but a curt nod. She then turns to her client. "And Sasuke, I've already discussed with Temari-san last night some matters regarding the next session. We're scheduled next week Wednesday at 2 P.M., but we need you and Sakura to decide on a different mediator as Kakashi-san will be unavailable -" A hand raised and Karin finds herself hesitating.

"I'll contact Sakura later. Both of you may leave," Sasuke observes Shisui's curious look at the corner of his eyes and notes mentally how he'll be lectured a little of this in the next minutes. He clears his throat. "And Suigetsu, reserve us a table for lunchtime at Taekona's Bistro -" when Suigetsu interrupts that he has no idea where that is because it's the first time in Konohagakure, Sasuke starkly adds, "Karin can help you. A table for two, if you will."

"Make that three," Shisui intrudes, grinning with three of his fingers out. Sasuke pointedly revers at his cousin, squinting his dark orbs in suspicion. "I'm expecting someone to join me. If it pleases you Sasuke, may I have someone share a table with us later? They'll be of use to the company in the future."

Saving the impending question for later, Sasuke forces the word, "Fine." His two attendants concisely bow their heads, then start to leave in peace, until Suigetsu comes back to the doorway not a few seconds later.

"Okay, but can I eat at Taekona's Bistro as well?" Sasuke's pained expression of irritation proves to guilt him that he edgily takes a step back, but still awaiting instruction.

"Karin," Sasuke calls a little louder, before the woman pops her head in. "Take Suigetsu out for lunch."

Karin shudders, nose scrunching up in disgust. "Hell no. He stinks."

"He did wake me up at 9 AM!" Suigetsu retorts defensively.

Sasuke's lips tighten to a frown. "I really don't care if he smells like he just bathed in an ocean of garbage. Just take him out before I fire him."

Laughing at this, Karin claps her hands together, grinning to her side, while Suigetsu's mouth drop in horror.

"That's the best news I've heard in years!" Karin says.

"My mistake," Sasuke glowers colder now at both. "Take him out or I'll fire  _you_."

This time it's Suigetsu's turn to roar in laughter, that a minute too soon, he receives a worthy kick in the shins, the man trailing behind the redhead as their unprecedented repartee continue to echo in the hallway just outside.

"Do you see them getting married in the future?" Shisui intones, catching Sasuke's attention as the older man travels opposite his desk to a wooden breakfront, taking out two standard wine glasses and opens the cupboard.

Sasuke clicks his tongue, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're both insufferable. Individually. Together. You think much too alike persons would get along but having no difference at all in personality is the very thing that pulls them apart. That sort of marriage won't last very well."

"The reason why I enjoy being single," Shisui remarks, quietly discerning the uneasy Uchiha across the room. He views the uncorked bottles on display, then turns around. "Malbec or Merlot?"

"The latter, please," Sasuke resounds, sagging now at the comfort of his cousin's maroon couch lounge. Poured and delivered, the wine makes its way to his lips, a daubing sweetness he has been so accustomed to from when he was still a boy. "How long has this been in the cellar?"

Shisui cackles. "Since your dad took over. That'd be more than forty years, at least?"

Sasuke mimics a smile. "That's strange because the tannin levels are a bit high for a Merlot."

"Everyone's a wine critique now," Shisui says dryly, shaking his head as he downs his own glass in one sweep. "How's Sakura?"

Sasuke has predicted this conversation to snake its way in from a while ago, and the way Shisui drops the matter is essentially his very character as a person: casual but quite blunt. Incapable of meeting his eyes, Sasuke stares outside wondering the answer to that question himself.

"She's filed for divorce."

"Ah," is all Shisui could coherently produce, before he pours himself another round. Carefully, he words his next question as, "And how's that going for you?"

"We've been separated de facto," Sasuke tells him, disinterestedly, emptying his glass. "For five years because I had to stay in Kusagakure. The vineyard needed me after Itachi's passing so I left Konoha without much of a promise of being able to get back. Sakura and I weren't working out when I left then. On top of that I was Senior Supervisor for the Konoha, Oto and Suna offices. Getting promoted to CEO after a few years in service was uncalled for…" Shisui notices how Sasuke seemed to hesitate, gulping in silence.

"Itachi's death was uncalled for," the older Uchiha supplies.

Sasuke nods. "It was one of those depressing years for the company not only because we lost him but our statistics has reached an all-time low. Without my administering, the company wouldn't be functioning as it is now."

"Oh the price of getting the entire inheritance with little successors to fill in the big shoes," his older cousin comments. Afterwards, his lips quirk into a smile. "But you didn't answer my question, my dearest brethren."

Sasuke grunts, eyebrows furrowed in the middle. " _That_ , because it's not going anywhere at all."

Shisui laughs. "Care to elaborate?"

"No," the younger Uchiha firmly replies, placing his glass on the side table and eyeing something else to distract his mind running defenses argumentatively against Shisui's. Just as he felt Shisui has dropped the probing, the other man merely sits behind his desk, crossing his arms and still waiting for Sasuke to divulge more of the matter like a vulture. Of course knowing his cousin, Sasuke never caves in to such petty things, no matter how sensitive they are.

After what seemed years of momentary silence, Shisui tosses him a cocky smile, reminding Sasuke a bit of Obito's, or even somehow like Mikoto's. "You love her."

"I wouldn't have married her if I didn't, idiot." Sasuke's response comes a little too fast for Uchiha standards, considering how they don't say things they don't mean, nor get fueled easily. His face may deceive no one, but the way his ears burn a deep red, Shisui knows lying at this point will be used at Sasuke's expense.

"So why the divorce?"

"I'm on the defending end, remember? Sakura  _filed it_." Shisui can almost hear Sasuke pouting but holds his tongue back, rather careful now after remembering his younger cousin still holds the highest position in the entire company.

"Both of you are assholes."

Sasuke, obviously vexed, clicks his tongue, neither agreeing nor disagreeing – every fiber in his body still hopes that Shisui will just drop the subject and focus more on the less familial matters of his visit to Konoha, although saying it out loud will diminish his nonchalant façade. So instead, he raises his empty glass, requesting for one last refill, before they head to Taekona's Bistro for their lunch.

* * *

 

When Sakura arrives at the Leaf Police Investigation Office, it is almost noon, but the department imposes a no lunch break rule (much like in the hospital, but Sakura has ways); not that it makes a difference with the kind of employees in this division. Rules are meant to be broken anyway, and the Chief is on travel so Shikamaru is left in charge. It makes her giggle at the sight of Chouji, finishing off a box of donuts, probably from his wife when Sakura bumped into the lady earlier. She gives her friend a soft pat on the back and the man looks up from his paperwork, grinning in surprise.

"Yo, Sakura!"

"Did Ino come in today?"

The officer nods. "Yeah, she's in one of the detention rooms, interviewing. You might wanna sit for a while. She won't be long now, though."

"If she can actually get something out of that man," chips in another one of her friends from across Chouji's desk.

Shikamaru, lanky and thin, much like how he used to be in high school, does not even bother looking up from his laptop, comfortably sinking back in his swivel chair with a cup of coffee gracing his goatee right after he drinks. Slipping off his headphones and turning the screen over, he aggressively presses the volume. Ino's shrilly, impatient voice screeches into the speakers. The two boys shake their heads in laughter, like it's a usual thing, but Sakura crosses her arms, slightly worried.

"Ino should've considered joining the choir," Sakura mutters, hands automatically hovering over her ears.

Shikamaru holds his fingers out. "Three, two, one…"

The door from down the hallway heavily swings open, hitting the other end of the wall, and for a single moment, Sakura can feel the floor shake in her friend's anger, and see from the corner of her eye the empty box on Chouji's table fall. By gravity or by Ino's rage, Sakura believes either reason.

"Get him a fucking lawyer, I'm done trying to make him say anything else!" the blonde demands, now trudging to Shikamaru's table. "Did you get everything on record? Did you hear him? What a dickhead. I was doing my best to actually help him get out of this dilemma by submitting a confession for evidence. And he refused me. He's still claiming he  _'didn't do no murder'_."

"Easy, pig, you'll pop an artery."

Rolling her eyes, Ino crosses her arms, inhaling deep before facing Sakura. "Please, forehead, if I'd die because of that, I would've been dead a long time ago."

Sakura links her arm with the blonde, still fanning herself with her other free hand. "Come on. Let's grab something to eat."

* * *

 

Sasuke toys with the rest of his salad, even though he personally knows the chef and has enjoyed Taekona's meals since he was still a child. Something about today just seems terribly unappetizing, he decides. Karin and Suigetsu from five tables away are obviously enjoying each other's company despite constantly misbehaving, etiquette-wise as Suigetsu accidentally runs his leg dangerously up her thigh, higher than Karin might have wanted it, so she yells and accuses him of being a pervert – the rest of the banter leaves Sasuke entertained in the least while Shisui tries to phone his forced third-wheel.

"Hey, honey!" Sasuke rolls his eyes in repulsion at his cousin's tone. He must have run up another twenty-year old at a bar somewhere – such a tale that gets old even for the guys back in Oto who's heard of Shisui's caliber at being a womanizer.

"Yes, listen, we're inside Taekona's," Shisui instructs. "You know how to get here, right? Plus, I'm having lunch with someone important. I promise you'll love him." Sasuke quirks a brow as his cousin winks, the reason as enigmatic as their deemed guest. As much as he wishes Shisui to quit besmirching the Uchihas' name with immoral activities, he wonders what purpose will this visitor serve in their meeting.

Shisui finishes the call and props both his hands on the table, chin landing into one open palm. Sasuke still offers a disapproving glare, but Shisui cackles. "Please, she's family."

"Whatever," Sasuke says. "Besides, what do you propose? As far as anyone else in the family is involved, I supposed you're a better sounding board than Obito who sold off the one in Tanigakure to our competition. I can't believe that man divested without discussing anything with me. To this date, I still can't trust him handling Kumo and Iwa. The revenues are shaky up north."

Leaning back to his seat, Shisui crosses his arms, appearing deep in thought. "Well, honestly. I'd divest Tani. It's a ghost town, the populace doesn't have much of an upper to middle classes which is our target market, mind you."

"Elitist winemakers, the Uchihas are," Sasuke remarks, smirking.

"Pardon?"

He clears his throat, eyes avoiding his cousin's gaze. "Something Sakura said. I dwelled on that thought and offered a lower price solution affordable for the lower class. I've had that study right after I left for Kusa five years ago."

"Did it work?" Shisui wonders, but Sasuke is sure such inquiry only results in Shisui rubbing more salt on to Sasuke's open wound.

"A work in progress for about seven months now," Sasuke responds. "Apparently, I feel like a cheating bastard for selling cultured wine of less quality for a lesser price, but we need to expand after those recent divestitures. The inflation rate isn't helping, likewise."

"I suppose…" Shisui trails off, observing the graphs on the folder Suigetsu handed earlier. "We might as well kill off Ame, but acquire more branches in Suna and Iwa, our top grossers. The demand is intense over there because of the climate. Not so much on Kiri and Ame, though, but seeing how terrible our performance is in the latter, I think it's about time to let it go and capitalize on something bigger."

"Listen," Sasuke begins. "The graphs show a significant decrease in Amegakure's net. But, if we try to sell the product for a lower price, it will knock the competition off their feet, fix the surplus, and promote to the lower class."

"If the demand remains positive," Shisui argues, who is about to retaliate more when by the doorway of the golden-rimmed five-star restaurant, he spots the girl he's been expecting, and Sasuke, now out of curiosity turns to take a look at their highly regarded guest.

To his surprise, Shisui is right.

"Over here sweetie!" he calls, an arm violently up in the air swaying back and forth to catch the girl's attention, and Sasuke almost feels himself burn in his own seat as if hell has just decided to swallow the ground whole. But Sasuke cannot, for the life of him, look away, not today at least, when the girl's eyes, hiding behind her specs, meets his gaze evenly.

He and his daughter share the same eyes, but they're similarly expressive as her mother's, it's a little surprising how fast he can read her even if they haven't been connecting.

"Sarada," Sasuke mumbles when his daughter nears the table, her nod acknowledging him but turning again back at Shisui rather too quickly.

"Uncle Shisui, why didn't you pick me up in school instead? I got lost on my way here," says Sarada, grimacing as she puts down her black messenger bag.

Shisui gestures at Sasuke as an answer. "Your father was in the office. We're actually here to discuss some things about the company."

Sarada's face lightens, still unable to look back at her father who is attempting not to stare, but fails at it rather poorly. "Is that so?"

"But," Shisui begins his foul plot and stands up on his two feet. With left hand outstretched, leaving his suit crinkled higher to show his watch, he pretends to sigh in defeat. "I believe I have another meeting with the financial board in ten minutes. I'm afraid I have to leave."

 _One hell of a sly son of a bitch_. Sasuke manages to not blurt this out loud, but instead bids his cousin a death glare. "But we're not yet finished?"

"You can send the rest of the proposal via email or drop by same time tomorrow when you get the chance, hm?" Shisui addresses, fixing his cuffs. He turns to Sarada and cups her face in both his hands. "I'm sorry we can't spend lunch at the moment but you don't mind spending it with your dad, right? After all, when was the last time you two had some father-daughter bonding time, eh?"

"Five years ago," Sarada replies, deadpanned. Her unsurprised expression proves just how much she's used to her elder's constant manipulation of her activities. "You did promise to pick up my prom dress the last time, Uncle."

Shisui coughs. "Right, Sasuke here can help you out with that. Did you know he helped picked out your mom's prom dress too when they were about your age?"

" _For fuck's sake, Shisui."_

"He did?" Sarada's biting her lip to hide the amusement, but Sasuke's ears have gone redder than before and Shisui scurries efficiently out of the bistro and into a cab. His niece however bursts into an excited laughter as she falls on to the seat previously warmed by her uncle. When she stops, Sarada pushes the bridge of her glasses back and cleanly remembers who is she is stuck with now for the rest of the afternoon.

"Don't you have school this afternoon?" Sasuke asks out of the blue, suddenly taking interest in his salad once more.

Sarada shakes her head as she reads through the menu, hiding behind its safety from her father's unhopeful watch. "The teachers let us off to prepare for prom on Saturday."

"You're going to prom?"

" _Yes_ , Papa," she drawls instead of a 'duh'.

Still beating around their invisible bush, Sasuke lets it out. "With?"

When he turns to look at her, Sarada's face is beat red. "Uh, with my boyfriend."

" _With?_ " Sasuke asks again, as though her answer falls within the wrong box of all his correct ones inside his head.  _At least Sakura could've taught her daughter how to answer basic questions_ , Sasuke bitterly thinks.

"Inojin? Yamanaka," Sarada responds, deciding to drink water before holding out her hand to catch a nearby waiter's attention. "Auntie Ino's kid."

"Ah," says Sasuke, the memory of his wife's closest friend comes into view. "Why aren't you going with him to look for a dress?"

Sarada rolls her eyes dismissively, in a Haruno kind of way, Sasuke notices. "'Cause he's in Iwa for a math competition."

"Why aren't you in that math competition?"

"Because I didn't try out for the club, Papa,  _just stop this_ ," Sarada demands, rolling her shoulders back and firmly has both legs crossed and back straightened out. "If we're going to survive the afternoon together, we might as well drop the small talk and get down to business."

Sasuke snorts, though he isn't sure what to expect. His daughter has grown ridiculously similar to Sakura, in all her good parts, if he says so himself, but with a temper equally and most probably unforgiving as her genetic origin. Nonetheless, being calm even in stressful matters is something he'll insist as an Uchiha trait.

"Before I allow us to go on this _little adventure_ , I'm allowed to ask questions regarding your return. Will that be permissible, Papa?"

He sees no harm. "Fine."

"Do you really want to break up with Mama?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter will satisfy other questions you might have had while reading the first one, and I’m sorry it took so long because you know, life. Comments are always appreciated! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Already in the age of unapologetic weight gain and respectively having had one child each, Sakura and Ino choose one of their favorite German restaurants and order lamb chops and steak with mashed potatoes and mixed green peas to the side. Heavy dishes, but so is the workload for the rest of the afternoon and neither one mentions this, only curt nods of understanding as the waiter checks his menu list.

They submit themselves to the same usual spot,  _their spot_  as Yamanaka clears her throat and demands through the phone that it be always reserved fifteen minutes after she hangs up: table near the post farthest to the left, in the outdoor extension of  _Koko Köstlich_. Famous for the divine food and delightful service, the place gets frequented by the two women once every month, when their shifts don't try to overkill them.

"So, what brings you to the Interrogation Department this fine day, milady?" Ino begins, slender fingers slowly dabbing the side of her cheek as she throws Sakura a pensive yet almost sly look of inquiry. The blonde has been dedicated to her work of psychologically testing suspects and criminals for years now, she's become patently unaware of how her face twists to deceive. With almost thirty years of friendship, Sakura however can read the quirks just as easy.

Not that it helps, and not that she intends to jest, but it relieves her that there are still some things she can actually foresee or predict, unlike the rest of her life chaotically reorganizing itself without her permission.

"I just wanted to see you," Sakura smiles, telling the truth. This convinces Ino as she slightly backs away, picking up the knife to slice her meat. "I'm not… I don't know. I've been thinking mostly about how the divorce is going to affect Sarada tremendously. Her actions are all but defensive and…angry. Reminds me a bit of her father when he was her age."

"Sarada's a big girl," Ino responds. "The way she spends time with Inojin at the flower shop and just staying around at our place are enough evidences. I came home late the other night, found her tucking in Inojin on the couch. She was about to leave and then tells me she's made dinner, went grocery shopping with my boy and they both fell asleep watching Netflix. I am seriously considering of adopting her if you guys are worried about custody. After all, she'll be legal next year."

Sakura rolls her eyes, hand waving dismissively. "Come on Ino, I'm serious. This is going to affect her in the long run. What if at some point she refuses to get married at the expense that it might turn out exactly like mine? And what if she resents her father? What if she detests him as much as I do?"

"Wouldn't you want that?"

Sakura gulps. Figuratively, literally with water, because there is no way she can answer it in the affirmative. Hesitant, she avoids Ino's gaze, already conscious now at the silence in between them.

"Maybe I don't – "

"Sakura, didn't we talk about this?"

" – want her to hate Sasuke," she replies, shaking her head when both of their responses crash. Ino falls to her seat with a long sigh. "She's her father. Sarada deserves just as much love and support from the man and I refuse to have him neglect her, the way he has all these years. I don't want her to hate Sasuke. I don't want her to cut off ties with him."

The blonde girl raises one of her posh eyebrows. "You, my good friend, do not actually want the divorce to happen, do you?"

"I'm sorry?" Sakura is more of insulted than surprised. The clanking of plates and harmonious buzzing of conversations in the nearby table drown a remark Ino makes, Sakura frowning when she reads the other woman's lips, even more intensifying her stand on the problem at hand.

She scoops some mashed potato, along with the rice she ordered earlier on, stabbing it together with her fork to form an awkward mix, before begrudgingly saying, "I wouldn't have married him if I didn't love him in the first place, Ino. But that was ages ago, I was barely twenty-three and not even done yet with med school. You're missing the point."

"Oh please, billboard brow," Ino chances a passing waiter and requests for the tab. She offers a distant smile, almost melancholic for someone distastefully cheerful. "Not all of us are lucky enough to marry the boy of our dreams." It occurs to Sakura, that although she and Ino shared an undying infatuation over Sasuke Uchiha when they were pubescent little girls, her oldest friend is not referring to her to-be-ex-husband.

"But you know, sometimes we realize the person we might have been in love with isn't actually the same person who's going to make us happy. Or keep us happy. Sometimes, they're just you know,  _that_." Ino laughs coldly, more brooding than earlier.

"We will always love them, but they can't make us happy."

Sakura shakes her head. "I mean, like what? Like I never actually loved him? Or that he never really made me happy?"

"I don't know. I wasn't married to him for eighteen years!" Ino exclaims, hands in the air in exasperation. "Look, you will always love Sasuke. Always, that's normal and that's the reason why you're wondering if divorce would be the best way to reach out to him –" Sakura starts to open her mouth but the blonde's finger is quick to keep it shut, "– hence, you don't want Sarada to hate Sasuke, allowing her to keep seeing him, accept him back in to her life. Even if you get to keep Sarada, she'll be gone in the next year anyway. Out to college maybe or with Inojin, who knows?"

Sakura rubs her temple, shutting her eyes to load all of that in. "This conversation is clearly  _not_  going anywhere."

Both Ino's hands fall on Sakura's emaciated shoulders, gripping them tight. "I'm saying if having his daughter near him will stop you from worrying about Sarada hating either or both of her parents, you will do it. You will always love Sasuke, but honey this situation is not making  _you_  happy anymore. And this is why you've filed that divorce in the first place. For starters, you'll give Sarada happiness by letting her freely spend time with both you and Sasuke, and you'll be giving Sasuke the peace he's so obviously had been contemplating."

Sakura nods in agreement. Whatever happened to their disbanded vows in front of the altar, come running back like Shakespearean lines they've poetically delivered through Lit classes. Scripted and cliché. Overused and abused.

"So what about your happiness, Sakura?" Ino questions, pulling out money for her share as Sakura slides her extra change into the middle of table as the waiter picks it up shortly afterwards. "You've been putting it on hold for years now. Allow yourself a life."

As they make their way to the Yamanaka's Chevy, Sakura takes out her phone and dials Temari's number; they have to schedule the mediation as soon as possible and while Sasuke is in Konoha. The ringing feels like forever so Sakura drops it, then slips into the shotgun seat with Ino behind the wheel, already two minutes in of simply checking her teeth in the mirror.

"You're happy with Sai, right?"

Ino pauses and stares in horror at Sakura. "Are you kidding me? I'd hump him for the rest of the night if it weren't for my late night shifts and emergency calls. You're not the only career girl in town, forehead."

Sakura stifles a giggle. "Good to know, pig."

* * *

 

Two hours pass by quick.

Sasuke recalls when Sarada was only five and had started to wander around the vastness of the mall, slipping into stores just as swift as she came in, running around from one aisle of shoes to the next compartmentalized shirts. Her hands will trail hurriedly a hanger rod of skirts as if they had been running water, excitedly, back and forth. She will be crawling underneath the stalls, underneath the ladies' dressing rooms until she reaches the end and finds Sasuke's shoes. A look of disappointment will grace his face and Sarada will pout, close to crying, before her father picks her up in his arms, quite heavy now, and meets up with Sakura just by the counter. Her father never scolds her in public, so long as she remains quiet about it – tantrums are common with children her age, after all.

"Good day sir, what will it be this afternoon?"

Awkwardly, he snaps out from the memory and gazes at the measly boy behind the counter, reminded once more why he's ended up in a coffee shop. When a slight wave of panic momentarily sweeps in, Sasuke adjusts his tie and prompts himself that Sarada is not a little girl anymore, that being lost or out of sight does not equate to trouble, and it should be the smallest of his worries.

He pursues his lips as he scans the squat lettering on the menu overhead. He is not really sure what she will like so he picks whatever it is almost everyone else seem to like. "One latte, large, and a medium espresso."

Shopping is always one of the most distasteful and pretentious activities the female species are actually very fond of, Sasuke thinks, exiting now the queue with his order.

Taking a seat in one of the metallic benches, he takes the lid of the espresso and sips. Just as he is about to reach for his phone to call Sarada, he feels it vibrating in his pocket. The child has always impeccable timing.

"Where are you?" Sarada yells, the kind where she sounds like Sakura and the kind that gives Sasuke an instant headache. Before he can even force a reply, she adds, albeit still angrily, "I've been waiting for you for like half an hour at Coat & Tie."

"I got coffee and the lines were long." Not a lie, but not a very good excuse either.

Sarada sighs. "Yeah okay. Can you just get here and help us pick out the final one?"

He walks in front of the information map, the mall's entire floor area covered. He locates Coat & Tie before clearing his throat. "Aren't you with a friend who we both agree have better taste than both of ours combined?"

"Chocho helped narrow twenty dresses down to  _three_ ," Sarada says. "Your opinion will have a greater weight now."

"Give me ten minutes," he appeals, pacing east towards the said shop.

Ready to end the call, Sarada then asks, "Did you get me an espresso?"

Sasuke looks at  _his_  cup, cover already lifted, and balances the phone in between his neck and collar. "Yes, I got you an espresso."

He finds the two girls in the corner of the store, slouching with their backs to the wall. Sasuke expects boredom but only catches them taking pictures of their footwear at inauspicious angles, extreme giggling about an inside joke, before Chocho notices him first and pinches Sarada's arm.

"How'd you get in here with coffee, don't they check?" Sarada wonders but Sasuke hardly notices anyone staring back at him for coming in with drinks. The guard seems uncaring enough. The entire store happens to be shrunken with the number of people, majority of which teenagers, who share the same dilemma: high school prom.

"Did I mention you look really great, Mr. Uchiha?" He hands Chocho the latte, the untouched one, originally intended to be Sarada's and the girl somewhat squealed in delight.

"Thrice this afternoon, Chocho," Sasuke intones, before passing Sarada the espresso cup. A grateful smile is sketched on her face, pushing back her glasses up the bridge of her nose, coffee warm in her hands. When she takes a sip however, Sasuke stills, and their eyes meet and there is a glint of knowledge when she glares ever slightly but shrugs.

He exhales the breath he hasn't realized he's been containing. Has it really become this difficult to please his daughter?

"So," Sarada empties the cup and throws it quickly in a nearby bin. "I need you to pick one from these babies, all right?"

"Shisui lied to you," he says, as though such a fact will still matter now. "I believe it was Yamanaka's sole delight to be shopping for prom purposes."

Ignoring him, Sarada and Chocho approach a set of gowns, the girls appearing thrilled that they're having an outsider's perception. Sarada, with a small nod from Sasuke, exits into the dark curtains in the corner, a makeshift dressing room for the lack of the store's accommodation.

She emerges two minutes later in a rosy strapless gown, flowing empire cut and a crisscross pleated design around the waist. The A-line skirt sweeps the floor with a stunning split as a front overlay as Chocho helps wrap a few strings on her back to make it fit. She embodies her mother's namesake, just like spring.

"This is choice number one," Sarada indicates, twirling in it to show off. When Sasuke remains unnerved, she shrugs and hide behind the curtain with Chocho aiding in taking it off and slipping into the next one.

Her next pick is sequin-embellished blue ball gown, with a high neck halter strap. Lacey brocade drapes over the waist down to cover the multi-layered floor length skirt. With the glitter she will surely glisten, stand out to be most beautiful in a group of sevens and eights or nines, as teenager boys would rank. But Sarada has always been a ten that no boy deserves to dance with.

"This is choice number two." This time, Sasuke gives an approving nod, but arms still crossed and face kept with a frown.

The last one happens to be burgundy red, hues somewhat like young wine, and unlike the earlier choices, the dress is more casual, semi-formal at best, reaching about two inches above her knees but the cut seem fantastically perfect on her. With a tulle and lace for a skirt, a similar material in tutus that Sarada as a child hated, she models and spins in it, a corset back as well to accent its elegance.

"Well, papa?" She inquires with obvious hope.

"Seems fine," he offers a smile, and then stands up, a hand already dismissively attending to his wallet as he heads for the counter. "We'll take that."

* * *

 

Tossing their purchases into the back seat, Sarada fastens her seatbelt, obvious jitters for the coming event on Saturday. She isn't quite sure if her father notices it, apart from the smile she hardly hides, but even if he had, Sasuke seems to always stay quiet about his observation unless there is a necessity for it be voiced. He drives out of the parking lot and into the main road, beating the almost traffic as rush hour is already inching closer when twilight envelopes Konoha that day.

His phone rings while they pass through a tunnel, and it immediately connects to his car's system. The caller ID is Karin Uzumaki; Sarada familiar and knowledgeable through Shikadai that this is Sasuke's attorney.

"What is it, Karin?"

She hesitates, before speaking, "By the sound of it, are you driving?"

Sasuke tilts his head with an eye roll. "Yes. I'm heading over to Sakura's."

"Oh, then I guess this call would be useless," she lets out a chortle of a laugh, a cute laugh if Sarada could put it. "But to get you a heads up, Temari-san and I have talked and Sakura agreed to have your next mediation session tomorrow at ten."

"That soon?" A hint of surprise litters his tone.

"In case you forgot, you're leaving on Saturday back to Oto," Karin explains, Sarada widening her eyes at Sasuke.

His lips tighten, eyes looking back at his daughter. "Sarada's with me right now by the way."

Karin once more seems to stutter before she clearly lets out a sigh and adds, "Hi, Sarada-chan, you remember me?"

"A little yes," Sarada responds, smiling sheepishly. "You gave me my first glasses."

"She sounds so grown up already," Karin says, the one where she sounds like she's subtly grinning. Sasuke's friends have always sounded like that when they see her, like they have always been waiting for her and watching her silently. This has been more evident in her childhood, not so much now when her father barely visits Konoha.

A second later and her phone shakes in her back pocket. Sarada reaches for it and mouths to Sasuke that it's Inojin. Dutifully and allowing her space, Sasuke switches his call on Karin back to his personal phone, attaches an earpiece and discusses the rest about the next mediation.

Sarada excitedly answers, controlling her voice from revealing too much excitement. "Hey. Haven't heard from you since yesterday."

"Hey, you," Inojin greets, shyly at first, then he clears his throat hoarsely and Sarada's eyebrows crease together.

"You okay?"

He exhales deep, followed by a softer chuckle. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?"

"My dad and I went shopping for a prom dress," she almost cries in complete exhilaration. "It's red and kinda sparkly on the hem but it'd totally look good with that tie we bought last week." Inojin seems to be smiling on the other end. He draws another breath that makes Sarada doubt he's actually fine as he says he is.

"Inojin, are you all right?"

"Look Sarada," he begins, his mood emanating from the signal almost frustrated. "I don't think I'll be able to go to prom this year."

"What?" Sarada maintains a straight face, attempts a smile. Soon enough it falters just as quick. "What are you talking back?"

Inojin falls silent, but his breathing heavy. "I have an interview on that day here at Iwagakure Science University. They're considering my application, Sarada."

Now it's her turn to be hold her breath, unable to focus. "Application? You never told me you were applying in Iwagakure." Five hundred five miles away from Konoha. She almost cries in surprise, voice increasing volume, increasing tension, which thereafter captures Sasuke's attention. He hastily ends his own call and watches Sarada internally panic, internally the operative word as her father shortly glances at her, trying to read her movements, before in defeat, concentrating on the road. He grips the wheel a little too tightly.

"It's because I knew you won't agree to it," Inojin says flatly. "You won't agree to me going."

"What are you talking about, Inojin? Who said anything about me denying you to pursue that," Sarada exclaims, one hand already attempting to remove the crease on her forehead as she looks away. They seem to have come to a stop at an intersection; the road light reddens for cars to stop.

"I need you, and I just didn't think …" his voice falls away, sadder now. "I just couldn't think about leaving you behind all for this but Sarada, I want this too. You know I've always wanted this. They are the best Research Institute and if I could get that scholarship, I just know it'll be all worth it, and you know how much I love you, right?"

"I do," Sarada gulps, licking her lips as tears start blurring her vision. "I'll call you later. I just… really can't talk right now." She hangs up at once, sniffing hard and cold when Sasuke clears his throat very loudly, more out of genuine concern than affirmation of his eavesdropping.

"Willing to tell me?"

Shaking her head, Sarada leans against the window, crossing her arms. "Don't push it, Papa. I don't even know what it was myself."

Sasuke merely hums a response that meant he's further challenging her to reveal anything else. He takes one more turn around the suburbs and runs the engine at a slower speed.

She rolls her windows down to feel the open air. It still smells like spring. Still smell like second chances.

"Thank you," Sarada starts, eyes back on the road.

As if softened by the display of appreciation, Sasuke shifts his gaze to her. "You're welcome."

"I mean it, papa," she once more says. "I'm really thankful that you still agreed even though you didn't really wanna go."

"Still messed up the coffee," Sasuke brings it up, smirking at his mistake.

Sarada cackles happily, the first time she's been this exuberant in their entire time together. "I just didn't feel like having a latte earlier. But your instincts aren't as dull as you think. I honestly prefer a latte than an espresso. Just not today."

Just not today seems about the right description. For once, today Sarada no longer feels the hurt about her father returning, despite the lack of communication, the lack of a father figure in the house. For once, today Sarada does not bring herself to think the divorce is entirely her father's fault. Sasuke is surprisingly so easy to forgive and maybe that's what's been keeping him within their reach every time. That all his mistakes can be easily forgiven and it cannot deter the idea that they too could be happy.

* * *

 

"Target has reached home," says the man, whispering into his earpiece as Sasuke Uchiha drives his car away from his once residence. The man's eyes follow the one he's dropped off, although the girl already manages to set foot on the front porch unaware of the watchful eyes taking in her presence.

 _"Good,"_  the response comes in to the comm link.  _"Watch her for the next few days. Find out when will she be unguarded enough for us to make our next move."_

With his binoculars he stands and leans into the branch, adjusting as it zooms into the young Uchiha's bedroom. "I believe she just bought a dress for prom, boss."

The one on the line lets out a chuckle.  _"Any idea when prom will be?"_

"Saturday if I'm not mistaken," he responds hastily, still eyeing the window as Sarada blankly shields her room with a curtain. "I overheard some students that went to the same school as the kid. Hear it's going to be big."

A louder and more excited laughter screeches through the speaker.  _"Sasuke Uchiha will never know what hit him."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To think it's been two months since I last updated. I had my finals two weeks ago and had to get the swing back into writing so this turned out very rusty. Please don't hesitate to leave me those thoughts! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Sasuke hasn't been quite too thrilled about the idea of another face off with Sakura that day; face off the operative word as it being the only time they literally are seated facing each other for the past two years. Statistics tells him that divorce always go fifty-fifty: either you get divorced or you don't. He isn't a man of many complexities, and he has long appreciated the simplest of things despite his affluent background. After spending time with Sarada the other day, Sasuke attempts for sleep that night in a hotel room but couldn't manage, wondering about the past where he's made even the slightest mistake that made Sakura initiate this insipid mediation.

Of course, now that she's right in front of him, legs underneath bouncing up and down in nervousness like their first date, Sasuke calculates the possibility of her looking at their situation similarly at a half-full glass.

"I don't understand why I'm supposed to be here," intones the only other person in the room stuck in between them, appearing half as disinterested as Sasuke. "But I'll listen in and see what else it is you guys wish to discuss. I may be of service, for like, at least  _something_. As mediator of this session," she offers them a smile, to which only Sakura gratefully repays with her own.

"Tenten's been separated from her husband too," Sakura introduces noncommittally. "I think it'll help weigh in the decision if we hear what it's like post-marital."

"To tell you the truth, it's been quite dreadful," Tenten confesses. Sasuke's face remains stoic but watchful, and Sakura's eyebrows shot right up. "Sure there are days that make you feel you've made the right choice of letting go, then all of a sudden you see this happy married couple with kids from across your apartment and you just kind of regret it. At some point, I regret it because we couldn't have kids. We both wanted kids. I mean there are people I've dated and things have gotten better, but still you just kinda miss it.  _Him,_ basically."

Terse, Sasuke then says, "Do you think if you've asked him to get back together after the court decision rendered you legally separated, would you still be…?" Unable to finish his question because of Sakura metaphorically throwing daggers at him with her eyes, Sasuke clears his throat and leans back, waiting for a response to a half-baked thought.

Tenten quietly stares at the man, her eyes breeding some sliver of hatred for adding salt to her wounds, but later on she seems very professional and hides it by looking at the documents sprawled before her.

"I honestly don't know," she responds, head down. "That's the problem, actually. I think we got into marriage a little too fast that caused so many problems along the way. Three years of marriage isn't  _anything_  compared to how long you guys have been together. But in those three years I've realized I don't really know this man well enough to have said yes in the first place."

Sasuke almost senses Sakura squirm in her seat, maybe recalling the first time he proposed (because there is a second time, and the second time is the  _only one_  he actually considers as the official proposal with a precious diamond ring). He shudders at the kind of dream-induced stupidity that compelled him to think they were ready then. At twenty-one, barely finished with thesis, barely coping the fact that his brother is suffering from an incurable disease, barely even ready to wait on tables to earn extra cash for an oil change in that old Mustang he used to drive around with Sakura in the university.

He's lived most of his life as part of the two percent, but while in college, when the Uchiha Wine Corporation slowly suffered from economic depression, so did his parents. And so did his brother. Sasuke thinks maybe because Sakura has been the only thing beautiful enough to stay afloat with him amidst the struggles, and maybe he's confused such an idea as love. But then again, the greater part of him knows and has proven that a feeling as vague as that confusion, cannot last for almost half of his life now, and should've, like Tenten's, after a few years, simply faded.

It hasn't. Sasuke distantly wonders if Sakura's thinking of the same thing.

"Has distance been problematic for the two of you?" Tenten then questions, snapping Sasuke back to reality.

He looks at Sakura for an answer who also sinks back to her seat, watching him for what he'll come up with. Either way, she'll think of something to refute it.

"Yes, it has for quite some time now," he says.

"Not exactly just the distance," Sakura, as expected, adds. "I was always okay with him travelling around. It couldn't be helped with his work. I was pretty busy myself at the hospital. It was more of lack of communication that has led to the fallout." A department Sasuke has endlessly apologized nonverbally to Sakura for years on end.

"It takes two to tango," Sasuke then responds dryly. Sakura takes offense at that by averting her gaze back to their mediator, who instinctively reads through the documents.

"And how does Sarada feel about all of this?"

"Not taking it too well –"

"Accepting the ordeal quite fine –"

When they realize their answers happen to be contradicting, Tenten merely chuckles and shakes her head when the (former) couple glare at each other. When they both fall back carelessly, the brunette mediator clears her throat, a smile still to her face. "It seems both of you have been spending time with her about this. That's good and very encouraging for your daughter. You have to be personally aware about how she feels towards this separation. Being a teenager is hard enough and having parents who are uncooperative can majorly affect a youngster's attitude towards future relationships."

Sasuke thinks back to the car ride yesterday when Sarada is near to tears after the phone call from her boyfriend, whom Sasuke still has not officially met and judged for all his professional goodness as an absent father. He then shifts his gaze to Sakura who seem to have been calmly waiting.

"Yesterday I was with Sarada and I helped her pick out her prom dress," Sasuke tells them. Sakura of course knows about it, but still reluctantly listens for the details Sarada has left out from storytelling last night. "On our way home she got a call from her boyfriend. I didn't ask about it because she didn't sound comfortable telling."

Sakura nods. "Sarada and Inojin have been arguing a lot lately. I think it's more common but I don't think it's anything big. Inojin's a very fine boy that you should meet one day, Sasuke. I think Sarada would really appreciate it."

Sasuke doesn't really think he'll want to meet this Yamanaka any time soon. Deadpanned, he tilts his head a little, markedly getting a look at the pearl earrings Sakura's wearing and the invisible dimple hidden behind a kind smile. "I don't find it necessary but perhaps in the future. Meanwhile, let's get down to the division of assets. As you know, you still have thirty-five percent of the shares of Uchiha Wine Corporation."

"That is correct," Sakura states. "If we proceed with the divorce, it'll be cut down to owning only ten percent."

"Yes," Sasuke further agrees. "Have you thought about my offer? That I am willing to let you keep the thirty-five percentage if Sarada studies abroad to where I am staying. I can provide for her, Sakura, and I want to make it up to her by letting her enter into a more decent university that'll enhance her potential."

"I have thought about it," Sakura's eyebrows bundle together. "It's not a very difficult concept when we talk about properties. But Sasuke, this is Sarada.  _Our daughter_. I know you only want what's best for her but she's just… I don't want to be away from her. I'm willing to give up the shares entirely if only I get to keep Sarada here in Konoha with me. And you are allowed, at any time you want, scratch the latest arguments I've noted on the memo, to spend time with her  _here_. I just don't want her to leave."

Sasuke sighs. "Maybe it's something Sarada would want to decide for herself? Have you asked her? Maybe she wants to leave and start somewhere new?"

Sakura pauses, hands across her chest. She looks sadder than the worst time Sasuke's seen her. "I know it's selfish but I just… don't think I can let her go just yet."

"We'll just ask Sarada then, whenever she's ready." Sasuke makes up his mind not a minute further, buttoning up his coat. "I do rescind decreasing your share to a mere ten percent. You can keep the thirty-five, regardless of whether or not Sarada proceeds in going to college in Oto."

Sakura manages a smile as they both stand up. "That's very kind, Sasuke, but I do feel like we're cheating on what we've agreed on."

"What  _the lawyers_  have agreed on," Sasuke corrects, hand outstretched for Sakura to shake on. "Semantics. I never intended to decrease your share; it was merely a bluff to make you accept my offer. You are or say, were my wife – the privilege of being an Uchiha is also being part-owner of the corporation. You know that."

A smile turns into a grin, fuller and glimmering it makes Sasuke's internal do somersaults like a schoolboy. Not an appropriate feeling for someone turning forty in a few months. Awkwardly their locked hands part and drift back to their sides, Tenten witnessing every hesitation Sasuke determined enough to hide from third parties.

"We can sign the revised documents two weeks from now when you return to Konoha," Sakura suggests, as Tenten compiles them. "I'll fax Temari-san the amendments." And Sasuke nods, because really, what else is there to do.

"Ah, yes," he says, suddenly remembering what they're supposed to do. "Karin won't be too happy when I tell her about it, I believe. Perhaps I should give her a raise." They exchange chuckles.

Finished with her assigned task Tenten also gets up and thanks both of them for their time and being at best, so sincere about it. "When I was getting a divorce we skipped the mediation because we couldn't even look at each other. It's nice to see you two are more civil than most."

Sakura embraces the other woman and Sasuke pats Tenten's other shoulder before they leave through the door. When they both reach the parking lot, Sasuke notices how Sakura walks on ahead out of the lane and into the sidewalk, heading for the bus stop. He tells himself he needs to mind his own damn business because in a few weeks Sakura's returning his last name to him after laminated signatures on divorce papers. Yet somehow, instead of turning left back to his office, he veers his car to the right, halts in front of Sakura and rolls down the window.

To his surprise, she's smiling. It takes him back to college for some reason. His well-practiced passive face doesn't betray him either way but he does, for a moment smirk.

"Would you like to have lunch with me?"

* * *

 

"Sarada's what?"

It's the last day before prom, and Boruto nearly spills the canister of straws to his side at the news he hears. The cafeteria lady glowers at him behind her spatula and hairnet – he and Mitsuki apologize with shaky smiles, break out of the line and search the area for a free table. High school is something they really didn't think they'll get through out alive, but here they are four years later, living the shit out of being the gods of scam and troublemaking. To the students Boruto (and Mitsuki, a couple of times) are legendary pranksters. To the school faculty however, he's a menace, a disgrace for being the son of a political figure, but he's still here because no one can really prove that he's the one behind every trouble caused. It's almost like pulling off the perfect crime.

"She told me herself. We talked earlier before class."

Mitsuki thinks Boruto's infamy sprouted from him being an Uzumaki. Everyone knows they're political players who run the state and sometimes carrying a name defines a person in ways Boruto honestly detests. Which is why, Boruto simply owes their fame for a lame low quality video he made that gained a historic number of views over the internet a few years ago. It blows up in their faces years later and suddenly all the kids in school say hello, ask for advice, let them join clubs. He's been making videos for years now and his subscribers just surge in each day.

He picks out the vegetables and sets them aside, waiting for Mitsuki to continue. Himawari and her eccentricity, in a dress with a huge sunflower print, joins them for lunch, squeezes herself in between them like the wedge she is to every existing friendship Boruto has with anyone, and then takes all of Boruto's veggies.

"You know big brother," Himawari starts, "Mom told me I could go vegan full-time."

Boruto snorts. "Yeah, but can you take your freak stuff elsewhere? We were in the middle of an important discussion."

"Hey Mitsuki," Himawari greets and the boy gently smiles. "You don't mind me sitting with you guys right?"

Mitsuki shrugs. "Not at all." Boruto slides a boot to Mitsuki's ankle underneath, hitting him rather roughly. He jolts and glares, Boruto unnerved. "On second thought Hima, perhaps you can stay somewhere else just for today? We were going to talk about something big. Probably for tomorrow."

"Oh yeah!" Himawari says excitedly. "Prom's tomorrow, right? I'd love to see what you guys are planning for tomorrow."

"Like some freshmen like you will wind up at the prom?" Boruto retorts. "Himawari, move. We were talking. Privacy, please."

Scooping up the last of his leafy greens unto her salad, Himawari stands, hands already on her tray and feet out of the bench. She wanders off elsewhere as promised, still sticking her tongue out at Boruto every time he looks back to check that she's settled, and far away enough to hear.

"Okay, but Inojin stood her up?"

Mitsuki shakes his head. "It's not really like that. He just got caught up at Iwa, an interview. His application got accepted to a Science University. It just fell on prom night."

Unimpressed, Boruto clicks his tongue. "Couldn't he fly back? It doesn't matter if he's late, he could try to be there at least?"

"His interview is at 2 in the afternoon," Mitsuki informs. "It takes five hours by flight to get back. He isn't going to make it. And even if he does, I don't think Inojin's the type who stays for the after parties."

"Still." Boruto pictures Sarada crying about that, like her parents divorcing isn't enough of a burden on her shoulders, like the pressure of getting to a good college in order to impress her dad, like Inojin not taking her to prom – the only down time from everything she's been going through – isn't going to break her even more.

"It's a pretty dick move," Boruto responds, focusing instead on his meal. "I know Sarada and I know she isn't taking this pretty well. It's like getting rejected without the asking part."

"They already bought dresses too," the other says. "And you're right. Sarada didn't even attend class yesterday because of it. Apparently a bad stomachache, although I'm pretty sure she was just sulking."

Boruto rolls his eyes, almost irritated. "Such a baby. She obviously wasn't ready to date yet."

"You flatter yourself too much," Mitsuki intones, half-mocking.

"Wait, you're right," Boruto clears his throat, smirking. "She obviously wasn't ready to date  _again_."

This time Mitsuki throws a banana peel at his face. In return, Boruto takes his cream puff and splats it on Mitsuki's good shoulder. The next thing they know the cafeteria walls are splattered with intricate sorts of sauce and slime, ketchup and juices, a food fight ensuing out of their respective controls. Luckily, someone else takes the blame; a junior is sent to the principal's office and missing next period.

Right after cleaning up, Boruto isn't convince today will be a good day until he's fulfilled what ultimately needs to be done. Tomorrow's definitely going to be big.

* * *

 

The bell rings after what feels like a million years and Chocho falls into step with her in the hallway outside, chattering about how Mitsuki asked her out as friends via IM earlier for prom, emphasis on platonically. For some reason Sarada's been hearing a lot of pre-prom action and jitters – that she isn't the only one who's run into some sort of trouble. Shikadai who asked Mirai, a college girl he's been seeing for months now, gets his rented tuxedo aflame, and is endlessly looking for ways in finding a new one this late and hoping his mom doesn't hear about it. Boruto is probably planning the grossest senior prank in history. And alternatively, Sarada isn't going because Inojin chooses his future than some petty promenade – understandable compelling reason, she's just overthinking it again of course.

But no matter how much she tells herself that it's for the best, that Inojin deserves nothing less than that, it still hurts Sarada that he's been keeping his application a secret. Even Shikadai, the best friend, almost really like Inojin's brother, is surprised about it, the Yamanaka staying a few more days in Iwa for an impromptu interview out of nowhere. Shikadai's application to the science university gets accepted to everyone's pride, but no one has really assumed Inojin applying there as well. As an art enthusiast, people always think Inojin will study drawing or graphic design – somewhere in that line of work. Sarada thinks of this too and has underestimated the thought how they have otherwise rushed into being together, when they hardly know each other that well.

"Like, you can third wheel, you know." Chocho appears to have finished her monologue as they halt before the lockers, Sarada noticing how hers has been already opened. "I mean, Mitsuki doesn't mind. I don't mind. You're the sulkiest friend we know and we don't wanna leave you alone tomorrow. We'll slip out for the after party. Mitsuki's throwing it as his place."

Still quiet, Sarada withdraws the door of her locker and a small piece of yellow paper falls to her feet. This is overlooked by Chocho, wildly imagining what it'll be like the night after tonight with all the booze and liquor they can sneak in. Languidly Sarada reaches for it just as Chocho collects her things and zips her backpack.

"So how about it?"

Sarada stares at Chocho like she's absurd, still unsure if she's reading correctly the neatly scrawled piece of familiar handwriting. When she regains awareness of their one-sided conversation, Sarada nods. "I'll call. If anything comes up." And then Chocho half-embraces her before the girl exits the school hall. As though devoid of senses for a moment, she comes into terms her cellphone's been vibrating in her back pocket. When she picks up, there's a smile on her face as her eyes follow each and every word on the note.

"Okay, I pretty much knew it was you anyway."

"Give me credit, I picked your lock," says the caller.

She rolls her eyes, looking for his blue pair until she spots them about eighteen floorboards and about thirty people away, blond hair tousled as if he just woke up from a nap in History class. As his footsteps near her, despite the swarm of people coming in and out, disrupting the best view in the world, her heartbeat races. He grins so warmly it's almost like he's never broken her heart in the first place.

"You didn't pick my lock," Sarada snorts. "You knew the code, asshole."

"Only because you haven't changed it for the entire year," the boy answers. "Took me three tries. I thought you had it changed."

Sarada winces, raises her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "There are things that don't change, you know."

He's closer now and for a moment, there's a static disruption, like radio silence, and she's lost him in the sea of students. She turns back to her things and collects them hurriedly, phone cradled in between her shoulder and ear, before ultimately she receives a jump scare from behind. There is slapping, laughter, and fidgeting. Calls are dropped.

"I need your answer."

Sarada bites her lip and crumples the paper, throws it to the nearest trash. A finger digs at his ribs, deathly glare from those placating dark eyes. "Listen, Boruto. I'm saying yes because my fucking dress cost a lot. It doesn't mean anything. I'm still very much with Inojin. Agreeing is only because I need someone to drive me to the event and back home. And there's only one person I can trust with that, without Inojin around."

Boruto holds his hands up, unresisting, a grin slowly drawn to his face. "Hey, no need to get defensive. It's our last year. Can we at least enjoy prom?"

She leans back, hands akimbo. "No pranks, alright? No funny things."

"Promise," he holds out a hand for her to shake but Sarada simply crosses her arms, still glowering at him and studying whether he's up to something. "Come on, just shake on it. I'm not going to kill anyone tomorrow."

Sarada agrees, instantly rushing out of the scene in case he notices her cheeks going red, contesting even the sunset glaze.

* * *

 

She tells Inojin first the moment she arrives at home. The call lasts for an entire hour, peppered with I-love-you and I-miss-you and please-come-home among other things. Inojin doesn't seem bothered that she's going with her ex-boyfriend of two years, Sarada decides. Thankful, she promises to honor the trust and calls the rest of their friends about how she  _is_  going to prom after all, but with Boruto, a variety of responses flood her inbox.

Two hours before prom starts, Sarada bids Inojin good luck on his interview while painting her toenails. She could've went to a real professional stylist for all the preparation but nothing beats being by yourself and doing things on your own to prove how much you've improved. And she has, sort of, and it doesn't take the entire cuticle remover this time.

Just as she puts down the phone, the doorbell rings and she just hopes it's not Boruto. The insistence of the constantly paced ringing seems to prove her otherwise so with an eye roll, she storms to the door, swings it open with a fist ready, only to be taken aback because she isn't expecting this at all.

"Hello Ms. Sarada," says the stranger. "It's good to finally meet you in person."

Before she could ask who he might be, Sarada’s vision blurs and then there is nothing but low whispers of voices belonging to people she's sure she has never ever seen or met before.


	5. Chapter 5

Nearly choking at his current attempt, Boruto determinedly adjusts his tie again, staring nervously back at his reflection, a big mess, still at wonder how it takes him at least ten minutes undoing imperfect knots. Growing up in coats and often polished shoes, school occasions like these should no longer give him those incessant butterflies (for some reason today, there’s an unsettling feeling at the pit of his stomach). He’s not like the other kids, has never grown up them – exposure to events happen to be his childhood with a senator for a father. The only normal aspect of being a kid born into a family displayed in television sets outside of Konoha itself, is the luxury of having genuine friends who stay over for dinner, for breakfast even, for a life time.

Boruto has always categorized Sarada into this type. Much later he falls in love, and she falls in love and everything is going uncannily fast when you’re fifteen and holding your best friend’s hand when she’s having a panic attack in the principal’s office because she’s in trouble for something you’ve done. As a _freshman_.

“Cheese!” A Polaroid from behind, the flash bounces against the mirror and Boruto rubs his eyes in surprise.

“Himawari, knock!” Boruto barks, his sister unable to repress giggling and falling back to his unmade bed. The picture comes out blurry, of course, but the frustration against his restraint to get captured prints evident.

Himawari laughs. “You look snazzy! You never told me who your date’s going to be. I watched the stream last night.”

Boruto sighs. Himawari remains silent, fiddling with her camera in wait for a response. Satisfied with how he looked, Boruto breathes in rather deep, and then turns around to face his sister. “I thought you blocked my videos?”

Still not looking up, Himawari shrugs. “I promised mom and dad I’ll be nicer in exchange for new audio enhancers,” On most days, he kicks out the annoying gremlin out of his room faster than his internet speed, yet for some reason today, he finds it impossible to send her away. Just yet, that is. “And besides, it’s prom night. I can have your room and use some of your tech for this new song I’m working on. You aren’t coming home, are you?”

“It depends if Sarada’s going to the after party,” Boruto reveals. His eyes widen when he realizes the name slips out of his throat too fast that Himawari pauses, stares at him like a profound military secret’s just been exposed by an idiot, and then nods.

“So you’re taking Sarada? Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Himawari tries to sound nonchalant, but as far as Boruto’s concerned, someone’s overstaying.

He rolls his eyes, standing up and posing as Himawari takes another shot, a bit decent this time. “Inojin’s still in Iwa.”

“And like, that gives you right to jump on your ex-girl? Just because her boyfriend isn’t in town?”

“We’re _friends_. Grow up.” Boruto grips both his sister’s arm, nearly lifting her really, forcibly sending her out of the door before he hears her jest some more about this is _a disaster, an apocalypse, the end after the tragic end_ \- as though he hasn’t heard the same condemnation from friends last night.

He walks over the overexposed pictures lying on the floor, picks them up and sticks them to the side of his mirror. His tie appears as disheveled as his blond hair now too. Damn.

Sarada hates it when he’s late.

* * *

 Out of her medic robes, short hair loosely out her surgeon cap, Sakura strides into the hospital and heads to the pharmacy section, with Shizune behind the counter eyeing her eagerly as she signs some recommended drugs for her admitted patients. The older woman knocks on the clear glass, and then grins when she catches Sakura out of her pensive thoughts.

“Leaving early today, huh?”

Meeting her eye-to-eye, Sakura nods at the inquiry, still attaching signatures to the medical receipts. “Yeah, heading off to the airport to send off Sasuke. Won’t be long, of course.”

Shizune catches on, especially the pink tint on her cheeks when she speaks. “Take your time, really. Dr. Nohara just made it in from Kumo. She can cover your shifts for the entire night.”

The rosette-haired woman appears startled with the offer, but at the same time, grateful. Exactly why, she’s going to have to reconsider that a bit later. “Oh, well, great! I haven’t seen Rin in awhile.”

“Considering she broke off her engagement with that Uchiha from Taki, I doubt you’ll see her in the family reunions again.”

Sakura pricks the back of her senior’s hand with the pen, tapping the glass with a glare, though not out of spite. “Let’s not gossip now. Back to work.”

With a teasing tongue out, Shizune snatches the papers out of Sakura’s hands once she finishes and goes back to her main counter to inspect the drug supply. Weary, Sakura mentally counts the minutes passing, fingers mindlessly tapping as she stares at the clock. Then she remembers that she’s forgotten to tell Sarada about her father leaving today for Oto - despite how many times Sakura’s promised to no longer hide any secrets from her regarding her relationship with Sasuke.

“Shizune-san, can I use the phone? I’ll just check on my daughter.”

Without looking up, Shizune holds out a thumb as a go-signal, Sakura reaching through the window for the side telephone. Carefully dialing their residential number, she waits as it beeps tirelessly. Odd enough, Sakura feels it is a bit too early for Sarada to be heading to prom at this hour, so there is no reason for her not to be at home at the moment, preparing for the big night. The call remains unanswered, and Sakura redials three more times before giving up.

“Maybe she’s just busy?” Shizune asks from behind her computer screen. “Try her cell phone, kids these days never leave without them.”

“Yeah,” Sakura acknowledges, shrugging. She checks her watch and realizes she’s consumed about thirty minutes, and Sasuke’s still in the car waiting for her, probably engaging all his work calls before he goes out for two hours during the flight. “Can you tell the head nurse about the medicine? Also, say hi to Dr. Nohara for me. My passenger might be getting impatient so I best be leaving.”

Shizune grins politely. “No problem, Sakura.”

* * *

Sarada stirs awake, lids half open, vision horridly impaired without, as she realizes, her glasses. Out of habit, she tries to reach for where her glasses supposedly are, only to discover her limbs are tied rather tightly behind her back, her knees closely against her chest with ankles in a similar predicament. She observes to the extent her eyes allowed, how she’s in the backseat of a car, with two men, in black leather jackets and masks at front.

Learning immediately what’s happening, she squirms forcibly, screams muffled by the piece of duct tape on her mouth.

“Shut up, kid!” yells the one in the shotgun, glaring. She hasn’t seen him before, heard of the voice even. He has blonde hair, lots of it actually, that a part covers the side of his face, the rest tied in a ponytail.

“Don’t scare her,” the driver, auburn hair, younger than the other, instructs. “We need her alive.”

“If she’s going to keep doing that, the police is going to come after us and we’d all be dead before we even reach the warehouse.”

The other placidly chuckles. “Kidnaps make you nervous, don’t they, Deidara? First time?”

“Eh, any more of your yapping and I’ll tell it was your fault we didn’t finish robbing that bank in Suna!”

The other one lightheartedly bursts into laughter, before turning his head slightly to the side, losing his charm at once with a glower. “Just stay still, alright? We’ll get you to Yahiko at once and he’ll explain everything to you. Got it?”

Sarada, still terrorized, shakes her head in opposition and struggles in every manner to break free. The man named Deidara simply laughs, concluding, “That’s a yes, Sasori.”

If only she has her phone on her, if only she didn’t answer that door earlier - if only she can call Boruto and tell him she’s forced to have other plans for tonight, wherever this Yahiko person is. Tearing, Sarada whimpers in defeat and settles back, trying to focus instead on her shaky breathing. She’s in sure trouble now, scared, shuddering with her own thoughts at what these thugs are about to do to her. She thinks of Inojin, how he’s acing that interview in Iwagakure right now and in the verge of leaving Konoha and her forever. She thinks of her mom and dad, quite possibly coming into legal terms about their separation and leaving her with two homes. She thinks of Boruto.

She thinks of Boruto somehow, and for another minute remembers a sliver of her childhood where he seems to be everywhere, always there - always a hand to her hand, a soul protecting her. Falling into a deeper slumber, her dream plays out the memory.

Sarada clenches her mother’s fingers as they drive past the neighborhood. She is four and half, young and bewildered, all the more her curiosity heightened that they move back here in Konoha, where her parents both grew up. The decision isn’t that hard to cope with, both Sasuke and Sakura know this of course. But Sakura wraps her arms around Sarada, curling by her side as the seat belt flattens them together like pieces of sardines. She is growing big, her mother comments, although Sarada pays little attention to this, summer air lightly caressing her cheeks, house with same looking roofs greeting them as they pass by.

Her parents assure her there is nothing to worry about the place, a quiet suburbs area, with tall fences dividing one from their neighbors. It seems pretty quiet, until she goes out of their Sedan finally after fifteen minutes (her parents busily pulling large boxes from the rear and has instructed her to go inside the house with them but refuses), and before Sarada knows it, her soft bum makes contact with the gray pavement, head swirling slightly from the collision.

Sarada hears her mother clicking her tongue, pairs of feet shuffling to her but her father reaches her first, strong hands lifting her up. She doesn’t cry - not that she does that often which is a blessing too. The light from the sunset gleams as she opens her eyes, squinting fairly and seeing now the silhouette of two or three other persons, a boy of her age with hair like sunshine and eyes as deep as the ocean (or swimming pool, because Sarada hasn’t been to the beach yet). The other figure carries the boy up, hurriedly apologizing to her parents.

“Boruto’s just learning how to use the skateboard, I’m really sorry about that,” says the woman, who as Sarada infers, is the boy’s mom.

Meanwhile Boruto stares at her, in total wonder, apologetic even as he takes off his helmet. Four year olds are not exactly devoid of emotions, especially one of guilt.

“I’m sorry, Sarada,” the boy’s father tells her, then turns to Sasuke after one of the most calming grins she has witnessed. “Good to have you back in the village, my pal.”

Sasuke smiles. “It’s good to be back indeed.”

“You’re going to have dinner with us later Hinata, yes?” Sakura asks the wife, the latter putting down Boruto to pick up his toys.

“That’d be lovely,” Hinata responds. “Sounds splendid, right, dear?”

Sarada dislikes how her mother pats Boruto with a very cheeky smile, and her father disheveling the boy’s hair while immersed in his conversation with the boy’s dad. Since then, Sarada seems to just dislike everything Boruto is. But she isn’t jealous of him, no doubt. Not in a million years, even when her father starts to be a little absent during meals and comes home far past her own bedtime.

No, Sarada is definitely not envious - that sad excuse of a boy has too many flaws and shortcomings to be worth her fussing time. He lives around the bend seven blocks away. Almost every other Sunday, her parents invites his family over, and they will have lunch (or supper) together; sometimes the other way around too for it would be his family’s turn to have them over, and it seems quite ordinary and fine, except they usually brought up the subject of her ‘accidental-coincidental meeting’ with Boruto. And that topic makes Sarada absolutely annoyed.

Boruto’s father is a governor that time, running for the senate, apparently Sasuke’s most trusted and loyal friend. So is Sakura’s. Hinata’s family has also been in the political game long before the entirety of Konoha was established, so their meeting is one of fate - Sarada hears her own mother tease. When Sasuke hardly frequents staying in Konoha due to work, Sakura and Sarada still dine with the Uzumakis. The moms discuss embroidery and gardening one Sunday. Sarada likes neither of those things for a girl, and she particularly throws away her dolls and break their legs, not out of sheer jealousy that she cannot be that perfect, but maybe because these things scare her at night, and somehow this information leaks to Boruto, out of overhearing from their mothers.

“You’re afraid of dolls?” He asks her, nearly snickering as he tugs on one of her pigtails. She pouts, punching his shoulder angrily before Boruto thinks it would be nice they take a dip by a pool of mud, pushing the girl as they wriggle there like two little pigs, the girl teary but still laughing, before she is on top of Boruto, arms crossed, giving him the smuggest of grins.

“I win,” she darkly says, her pink dress that her mother just bought the other day completely wrecked, and Boruto, underneath her, cowers. Notably, their parents laugh off the scenario, other than the fact that it might have appeared cute, it is inevitably the solution to Sarada’s loneliness due to Sasuke’s usual disappearance, and of Boruto learning how to play with someone of the opposite sex (Himawari is too tiny for brawling). That they are comfortable playing like this, teasing, running around the backyard that might have been to the two their whole world.

(Nonetheless, being beaten by a girl makes Boruto hate Sarada to an extent that he can’t ever forgive her. But he always still did.)

* * *

 Sakura’s agitation infects Sasuke as he watches her biting her lips during stop lights, looking at her rear mirror a little too often than warranted, and even gripping the wheel too strongly for his taste and much worse than how Sakura usually drives. He clears his throat when they reach the pre-departure area of the airport, couples kissing now and saying their last goodbyes, while Sakura, still clutching her phone close, her nails to her mouth with an obvious unrest, falls in step with him without a single noise.

“Something’s bothering you.”

Sakura turns to him, a small smile. “Nothing really, I just… Sarada hasn’t picked up the phone the entire time. I’m getting a little worried.”

A little is an understatement, but Sakura’s been a collection of that for as long as he can remember. He opts not to reach for her arm, nor enclose her in a farewell embrace, because this is not some dramatic soap opera parting. This is just ex-spouses deciding to split in the most public place ever and one can’t seem to be even mentally present.

Sasuke opens his mouth to speak but is later silenced when Sakura continues, “I’m worried Sasuke. She doesn’t ignore my calls. That _never happens_.”

He nods. “Perhaps she’s just busy preparing for prom. She’ll get back to you later. I can promise that.”

Eased, Sakura exhales, suggesting her agreement. “I hope so.”

Silence shortly follows like a shadow, most of their conversations these days seemingly turning out in such a manner that he himself feels no urge to keep it up. He notices it at once and decides this is the right time to head off.

“You should go now,” Sasuke suggests.

Sakura shakes her head. “Not until you enter that plane.”

He smirks, hardly noticing the blush he’s caused, but somehow senses the hotness of his own cheeks. “Just like old times? Go on, I’ll be fine. Best to contact Sarada now. I can’t keep you with me that long.” Unsure again as the silence drags on, Sasuke holds out his hand for her to shake, business-like gesture really that it sends Sakura gaping, how terrible truly is this man at expressing his emotions.

She bites her lower lip, without him knowing that she doesn’t want to simply shake on it like it’s some deal. Like all their lives, they’ll just end up with completing deals. After that suspension, and without a single hint of remorse, Sasuke lowers his hand as if in understanding, bowing his head at Sakura who just stares at his back when he turns with much poise Uchihas pride themselves in.

Abruptly, and much to his surprise, Sasuke discovers two hands around his torso, embracing him from behind amidst the crowd that flurries round and about the airport with their respective affairs. She nuzzles on his coat softly, the arrogant strong smell of his perfume, his car scent, his aftershave. His heartbeat paces a constant rhythm - one Sakura hasn’t heard in a long time.

“I missed you,” she states a matter-of-factly, no longer hiding the reason for accompanying him all the away here. “Call when you get there. Sarada will love to hear from you.”

Startled, Sasuke shifts away a little, then without any more second-guessing his actions, turns around with arms clasping the woman again more tightly than he’s had in years, his chin resting atop her head. Having to practice the art of being completely stoic in times of where it requires he show a little bit of emotion, Sasuke decides it unwise if his hands drifts lower than the small of her back.

“I missed you too.”

* * *

 “So, it’s finally prom night. Didn’t think you’ll finally see me in some fancy white tux but mom insisted.”

He chuckles into the bleak twilight air, baritone echo, in the silent neighborhood he grew up in with Sarada, before scowling into the camera and hitting delete. The device clinks, sounding like the recording refuses to be erased from the storage. Hitting his car radio for a haphazard station, he tries to settle back when his favorite band plays, increasing the volume just a little more as he consumes more doubt because Mitsuki was screaming _this isn’t going to work_ just last night and Shikadai warned him how weird would it be to go to prom with an _ex._ Even Himawari, who has never been in a relationship, dissents from this yet-catastrophy and still Boruto shrugs it off as another challenge he intends to commit.

Boruto sighs, fingers drumming the wheel to the heavy metal music blaring through his speakers, him puffing his cheeks as for the next three minutes he gazes at his side mirror then back at his phone screen. Not a single blink of message. He hits the record on again, adjusts the camera to capture his best angle then puts on his grin the rest of the world wide web seems to be crazy about.

“A little personal for this week’s video blog, no pranks or anything as I’ve promised my date who is _apparently taking forever_ to get dressed.” He moves the camera to the Uchiha Home and then back at his cellphone. He zooms in on the phone screen, point blank empty. “Nothing. I’ll try calling her now and see if she’ll actually remember tonight’s the night.”

He does as he says he will, but the other line rings endlessly. Boruto rolls his eyes, speaks once more right into the camera: “Nope. Not answering,” he hits pause, clicks his tongue, then decides to personally ring the bell because this is going to take forever.

Is she still sulking perhaps that she isn’t going with Inojin? Or the fact that it’s Boruto who’s taking her? Or maybe both? Boruto can’t tell as of late, but such thoughts do sting. He’s known Sarada for most of his childhood, and they dated for two years. It isn’t fair to think of him less, he reckons, as he marches to the front porch, holding the breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding until he presses the doorbell and sighs deeply waiting for a response.

Four rings later and a couple of minutes pass, Boruto remains ignored. If his memory serves him right, Sarada says she’s doing her own hair and makeup and that stylists are just a big waste on money, that ever-practical Uchiha. There is no way in the last minute she’ll go to some beauty salon, regardless of how incompetent she is on applying her own makeup.

Disheartened, Boruto growls, “Look, if you didn’t want to go you could’ve just said -” his hand grips the knob and notes that it’s already unlocked. When Sarada’s alone, she never leaves the doors this way, which in the sense is quite odd. He knocks on the door again out of respect, eagerness to get the day over with, before stepping inside the house.

“Sarada? Sarada, you here?” He calls into the foyer, and only his own voice echoes back. He searches the empty living room, the TV still surprisingly still on. At the sight of her glasses on the floor, his heartbeat races loudly, almost like drums against his chest, and his next step seems to further his suspicions.

Boruto picks up Sarada’s phone from under his foot, seven unanswered calls from him, two from her mother. He may be good with pranks but Sarada’s never been the prankster - and he can tell, this isn’t some prank Sarada just randomly pulls off to get back at him. This is something else. He presses the call back option, patiently waiting for the other caller to respond.

“I think Sarada’s missing.”

* * *

 

Sakura can’t feel her legs as she runs towards the line of people with luggages in tow, all complaining about her excessive screaming and fitting in this crowd. The moment the airport authority manhandles her now, she swears she’s shouted the loudest for Sasuke, and the man, already by the port and ready to have his ticket torn as a boarding pass, turns around and sees her.

Slightly panicked his ex-wife is making a scene, he breaks away from the line, approaching the men and insisting they let her go since the person she’s looking for is now here, no need for further restrains. Having to hold her again, Sakura looks disarrayed from ten minutes ago, emerald eyes shedding tears as he meets her gaze. He grows anxious.

“Sarada’s gone. She’s gone, Sasuke. I don’t know what to do. Our daughter’s missing.”


	6. Chapter 6

The tires screech to a stop and Sarada startles awake with little energy to move even another limb. She recollects much of her consciousness pre-slumber, which after hours of perpetual struggle to break free, her hands are still tightly tied behind her back, ankles equally in a similar disposition. Stuck in the backseat of some old-smelling car.

Twilight manifests itself over the horizon of the car’s window – orange melts into a cotton candy purple and dots of twinkle visibly emerge. From her early years of stargazing with her uncles, Sarada presumes she is still somewhere in the outskirts of Konoha. As to how much longer, she really can’t tell.

“Oi.” The more aggressive of her kidnappers knocks on the glass she has been leaning in for support. When her eyes lividly followed the voice outside, he smirks. “We’re taking a little detour to get some supplies. Try to keep it down while we do our stuff, alright?”

“Try anything funny,” _Click._ With little time to react, Sarada’s gaze proceeds to the other man in the driver seat, packing ammo into his pistol and locking it back into the gun. He looks apparently too calm, as though loading it is another routine they have been trained for ages. _Click._ Seconds later, he points the gun at her, finger behind the trigger, stoic and without a hint of remorse. “How rude of me.”

Once he lowers the pistol, he cackles to himself, shaking his head. “Is there anything you want while we’re at a grocery store, child?” Trembling, holding her breath, Sarada fails to give a response, still flinching from near death trauma, to which the redhead merely winces.

“Nothing, huh? You sure? I can get you a popcorn, if you want.”

“Sasori, let’s go,” whines the other man.

He inserts the gun back to his attached hidden holster by his waist without completely removing his puppet-like eyes from Sarada. He shuts the door and follows the blond, the two making their way across the open field to the mart about less than a hundred meters from sight. Sitting up straight, Sarada focuses as the two figures enter the store, pretending to be ordinary folks there for ordinary business.

She heaves her weight to one side, applies the most brute force she could muster towards the door, and pushes in vain, as it seems to be locked on the outside. Sarada pushes for her second attempt, only to stumble back on her seat. Though with knotted wrists she aims for the window with an elbow, eventually falling again. Sarada shoves her head forward, two, four, eight times until she notices the glass is stained with blood, scratches to the bare minimum. Unbreakable, the glass mirrors her tired face, bruised, still with tape over her mouth. Tears rim her already swollen eyes, exhausted but still seemingly not yet defeated.

Still with disfigured vision, Sarada leans back against the door, takes one slow deep breath, then offers a restricted thrust using her feet to the other end, to the best her fatigued body could gather. She hears the pounding of the blood in her ears, a loud beating against her chest it makes everything shaky and blurry than it already is. She just can’t stay like this any longer. She can’t stay _here_ any longer.

A distant explosion alarms her – the grocery’s left side roof is smoking now in thick grays; the other side nippily follows, bursting into brighter flames. Disoriented, Sarada’s heart paces faster, as if it hasn’t been running marathons since earlier. Her kidnappers appear from the entrance, paper bags in Sasori’s arms, while Deidara, brimming with frenzied laughter, toys with his partner’s gun from earlier. He skips happily towards the car, swiftly manages to get in as Sasori load the items into the rear of the car, glancing once in a while at a peering Sarada.

“Hope you like lasagna for dinner,” Sasori hums. “Kakuzu makes the best.”

Sarada swears she can see the smug hmpf of the other man, Deidara, from the seat in front of her. “Don’t worry, daddy’s gonna come and get you soon.”

It’s the last thing Sarada hears before she blacks out again.

* * *

 

Sasuke unrelentingly stares as Sakura’s forehead lines increase with every wrong key she deliberately inserts into the hole, the rest of the keys jangling, once or twice falling from her grip. The third time makes him squarely pick it up himself and hand back to Sakura the set, adding, “Calm down.”

Her free hand instinctively flies at Sasuke but he catches it before it connects with his face; a succeeding fist against his chest takes him aback, letting go of the other, which leads to both of Sakura’s balled hands striking at him in an endless fit that he starts backing to the living room, away from the privy eyes.  “You can’t expect… fucking calm down, my daughter is fucking missing!” It hasn’t even been an hour since she stopped sobbing when police cars seem to surround the empty Uchiha home the moment she and Sasuke arrived after racing back from the airport.

He grabs the keys from her without her noticing as she continues to hit him, even his face now. “You can’t just fucking waltz in here and tell me to calm down!”

Sasuke tosses the keys to Boruto from across the room, the Uchiha’s jaw clinching as a signal to proceed with opening the drawer of the computer hardware where the recent video surveillance of their home is usually kept. Without another word, the boy does as asked, with Shikamaru, officer in charge and IT specialist, patiently following him from behind. They settle in the hallway.

Sakura, finally concluding her attacks against Sasuke, collapses unto the floor with him still holding both of her elbows. He waits in silence as they squat atop their vintage carpet rug. Sakura breathes in deeply, her entire face flushed from the fury and frustration to which Sasuke proceeds by tucking a hair falling out of place, behind her ear. He cups her face gently into his open palm, the other still tightly supporting her arm.

“Sakura, look at me.”

She does. It is perhaps the first time they’ve seen eye to eye for a long time, without thinking about the divorce or the company. Without thinking of anything at all, except Sarada. Of all the things that’s happened, Sakura only detects how Sasuke’s eyes somehow exude hope. She nods without saying anything,

“We’ll find her. I promise,” Sasuke tells her firmly. When she still appears unconvinced, he extends his arm for an embrace, clasping Sakura and all her fragile parts together. “I will do whatever it takes to find her.”

Sakura surveys their home, officers here and there scurrying and trying to locate any clues that will give them a lead – one even dared to enter Sarada’s room, which Sakura has once sworn she’ll never enter without her child’s permission. Two forensics gather by the doorway, where the kidnapping is presumed to have taken place, dabbing for any new material they might identify. Some of Sarada’s friends have arrived in complete promenade costume, insisting on helping look for her and ditching one of the most important nights of their entire high school life.

“Not to be a drag or anything, but I need you guys to come look,” Shikamaru announces over the foyer. Sasuke helps Sakura lift herself up, hand clutching the other’s arm, unknowingly and closely holding each other’s hand as they face Shikamaru and his computer. The lanky man stands up to give Sakura some seat, to which the latter eventually takes, hastily smearing her tears off her face, while Boruto watches from the corner as the officer rewinds the tape from when it started to be evidence-worthy.

The surveillance camera lies in the corner of the foyer, attached to the ceiling by the stairwell, providing a rather top view from the stairs towards the main door. The record rolls from when Sarada reaches the door, a surprised look on her face for some reason and remains shocked when a stranger, dressed in all black with a mask over his entire face, walks in. Sarada scurries for the staircase, before the man now in range pulls her back by her shoulder; Sarada falls and squirms before a handkerchief probably with some sleeping gas covers her mouth, knocking out the girl into sleep. Whilst revealing his lower face, he flashes a smile, and standing on his toes, the man blurs the lens of the camera with some spray, clouding the scene and exposing it. A minute later the camera clears and they are gone, Sarada’s glasses on the floor along with her cellphone.

Gasps and small sobs erupt from Sakura once more, with Sasuke standing behind equally baffled, hand squeezing her shoulder tightly. Shikamaru hits the space bar as an intervention, pausing the footage as he clears his throat.

“The thing I find rather odd is that it was such a sloppy crime, but it was timed so accurately for some reason that the kidnapping happened between 3:39 pm to 4:14, thirty minutes before – ” he presses the space bar twice and the footage plays fast forward, with Boruto entering the foyer now, “ – Boruto comes into the scenario.”

Boruto nods, crossing his arms. “Give or take, I was in the car watching the house for at least twenty minutes before I decided to go in myself. And I swear I didn’t find anything fishy and out of place.”

“How can a kidnapper exit the subdivision unnoticed in a span of ten minutes?” Shikamaru throws the question, rushing to change tabs again for the other surveillance videos he and his team gathered for this particular case. “We lack surveillance outside your house, so the best presumption I can come up with is that he timed how long it was to grab Sarada, and then jolted. At about 4:10, they have left the house, rode on this car.” Shikamaru plays a footage from the subdivision’s opening, a maroon minivan with tinted windows passes by.

“My best bet is it’s this vehicle. Every car that went in today is owned by persons actually residing in this area. I checked. This one was doubtful. I’ve had Chouji and Lee investigate regarding the van and intel’s on the way as we speak.” Shikamaru pulls on his goatee. “Which begs the question, was this even done in stealth or were they purposely leading us on?”

Sakura shakes her head, clasping her body, shivering more now than ever. “At least it’s a lead, isn’t it?”

“Let’s go back to the surveillance footage. Can we zoom in on the man’s face? He might actually be familiar and the police actually has a track record?” Sasuke suggests; agitation clear from his usual tone of nonchalance. Shikamaru obliges, dragging on the footage as it pixelated in quality, degrading the actual image. He repeats the process, arriving at the same results. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “It seems our graphic drivers aren’t compatible with the video file.”

Boruto excitedly claps Shikamaru’s back, as though they were same-aged drinking friends that made the man’s scowl more pronounced. “I have video zooming enhancers. I’ll run back and get them right now.”  The boy dashes out without a second though, eager at finally being able to do something to help rather than stand by and watch. In return, Ino knocks from the door, untangling her gloves when everybody’s eyes fall on her.

“Guess what we found,” Ino declares, revealing a bagged piece of hair strand. “Your culprit is blonde. We’ll have the DNA results in 20 minutes.”

* * *

 

Her eyes pop open after a horrible nightmare: the redhead guy has lashed her with the gun when she attempted to escape, then points it right in the middle of her eyes. Not a second further, the bullet is fired, the pain assuring a lifetime warranty that leaves Sarada Uchiha screaming awake, only to find herself in a room with a single bed, her own voice resonating, her legs and arms free from any sort of ropes or knots.

No windows, no vents. Darkness overwhelms her already disturbed sense of sight, as she crawls to the door, agony jarring in the rest of her lower torso down to the soles of her feet, from the earlier transit, that it makes it impossible to stand. She shoots for the door with full power, shoulder burning in discomfort at the useless effort to escape.

“Where the fuck am I? Hey, answer me! Is anyone there? Help me!” She cries, pushing the door once more until to her surprise, about five locks on the other side click, and the doorknob turns and she is face to face with a pair of a shark-like eyes, hair dark against his pale pasty skin. She backs away when the man grins – pointy incisors and blank molars greeting her. The scare makes it easier for her to be picked up from the floor and dragged to the end of the bed, once more tying both her wrist and ankles on separate bedpost, causing Sarada to once more lie on her side, this watchman watching and snickering at his own accomplishment.

“How amusing,” he tells her. “She looks a great deal like Itachi. Congrats on managing, Deidara.” Stunned at the name of her uncle, Sarada stiffens.

“Did you just say _Itachi_? How do you know him?”

He laughs darkly. “You mean to say that boy didn’t tell y’all about us?”

The ponytailed man, who Sarada quite remembers as the more talkative of the two of her kidnappers, appears from behind this newcomer and inserts himself into the room, arms on his waist, back hardened. “Well, it wasn’t that hard, Kisame. She’s what, 17? They’re pretty easy compared to kidnapping, say, I don’t know, the fucking governor of Suna.”

“He definitely thought we were going to get caught before we got here.” In a corner, Sasori indifferently supplies, enraging Deidara.

“I was being cautious, asshole.” He shouts louder, as if the volume of his voice will increase his integrity.

“Says the ‘cautious’ one who caused the gas leak and nearly killed our prime witness at the grocery mart,” Sasori croons. “How is Sasuke going to get to this location if we disposed of the cashier?” Sarada’s dark eyes glistens at the mention of her father, realizing how much she’s been merely used as a plot to lead Sasuke into where

Deidara rolls his eyes, sitting at the edge of the bed with his legs crossed. “I’ve planted enough evidence for them to locate us. I risked my own credentials for this mission, mind you.”

“Credentials, my ass,” Sasori remarks, cocking his head. “The only credentials you have is screwing with the granddaughter of an Iwa Senator.” Kisame holds his enjoyment, choking from the other two’s ardent exchange.

Deidara frowns, mouth twitching in sheer annoyance. “At least _I_ got laid!”

“Enough! All of you!”

Silence immediately ensues thereafter, to which Sarada looks up at the doorway and sees a suited man, his ginger hair sticking up, and his shoes looking like they are polished three times a day. He scans the hardly spacious room, already filled by Sarada’s two kidnappers and the shark man. Sighing, he clasps both his hands together.

“It’s good to finally meet you in person, Sarada Uchiha. I’m Yahiko.”

To which Sarada promptly retorts, “Why am I here? What do you want from my father?”

A female this time, though suited as well, with a bob-cut hair and three ear piercings on her left, walks in to the room and clicks her tongue. “I did not know of any instructions regarding your three’s visit with the captive.” She seems to be carrying a tray of food – lasagna as promised - for god knows whom, but the smell is delightfully inviting that Sarada’s eyes blink vigorously, more puzzled now than scared.

“Look, Konan,” Kisame starts, already heading towards the door. “I was just curious when you said an Uchiha was coming to HQ. Her eyes are like Itachi’s don’t you think?”

“Uchihas all look alike,” Yahiko affirms. “They’re all the same. Conniving swindling bastards who have done nothing but cause shame.”

“Conniving? Shame? What the fuck are you talking about?” Sarada shrieks. Her heartbeat races again, pounding by her ear in disbelief. All her life, she knows one thing about her lineage: they were a family of ordinary winemakers. They reap the grape seeds they’ve planted, grew an entire plantation and started business from there until branches all around the globe became possible.

Kisame, Deidara and Sasori, ordered mandatorily by Konan to leave, which through inexcusable refusals, found themselves pushed out of the area, leaving Yahiko and Konan alone with Sarada.

“Please,” Sarada whimpers, tears again welling up behind her lids. “Please tell me why I’m here. Tell me what my family has done for you to take me here. Please.”

“In time, child,” Yahiko’s shoulder straightens, nose flaring as if about to dismiss her completely. To Sarada’s surprise, he turns his back on her and Konan and makes it to the door. “Make sure she is fed for dinner. We don’t want Sasuke to think we’re not honoring our end of the bargain.”

* * *

 

In reality, Sasuke has not been inside this house for nearly five years and it still goddamn looks exactly the same way. Except the wallpaper now, brown and light blue stripes, and the living room curtains no longer reach the tiled floors. The entire hallway squaring the staircase is ornamented with trivial portraits of his ascendants and relatives: Madara Uchiha and his brother Izuna in a wide field where the grape plantation now lies. Then there’s Fugaku and Mikoto seated for their ceremonial dinner after their wedding. Shisui and Itachi fishing by the lake at ages 14 and 7 respectively. Sasuke in his diapers being carried by Itachi. Itachi’s in his Boy Scout uniform. Fugaku in a full on police attire. Sarada and Sakura gardening. Sarada and Itachi camping. Sasuke holding Sarada after she fell from toddling practice. A poignant sting grapples Sasuke down memory lane – how each one told a story, and how each one he dearly missed.

Sarada’s family has lived off as a single nuclear family since Sasuke decided to move out of the bigger Uchiha home uptown of Konoha – the current residence of Shisui. Fugaku Uchiha, Sarada’s grandfather has passed away when Sarada was only four, his mom following the year after. Though consequently, everything in the estate belongs to both Itachi and him by succession, he foregoes his share of the inheritance regarding the property, and because of Itachi passing away five years ago has left the place near to abandonment, Shisui takes over of the lot, along with the supervisory duties of the Konoha Branch of the Uchiha Wine. Sasuke succeeds into the overall CEO.

Shisui now paces back and forth with a phone on his air, yelling at the other line. “I don’t fucking care where the fuck you are, Obito. I need some officers down there, wherever the maroon vehicle is for fuck’s sake. Call me for updates.” He slips his phone back to his pocket, sighing.

Sasuke crosses his arms. “Anything?”

“He was the governor of Taki before moving to Kusa. He is bound to at least have some bit of authority over Takigakure.” Shisui responds, his face growing dimmer than its usual carefree glow. Tonight he looked more of his age. “I hope Sarada’s okay.”

“I’m not expecting the van to be at Taki by this time,” Sasuke replies. “But I can’t be too sure of who we’re dealing with.”

Shisui exhales, meeting eye to eye with his cousin. “I have a hunch.”

Sasuke motions for them to be in the living room, no longer an earshot from Sakura and the others. “If we are on the same page, Itachi told me there was nothing to worry about. That the deal was off.”

“But what if they are?” Shisui barks. “Naruto winning in the election was not part of the deal.”

“It’s an election, we had no control over that,” Sasuke defends.

“But you have Naruto under _your control_ because he listens to you and you chose not to advise him about his future plans?”

“That is a purely political discretion, Shisui,” he discourages.

“It was in _your discretion_ , Sasuke.”

“That’s something Naruto wants for Konoha. I cannot put our interests before that of Konoha's. Itachi never wanted that.” Sasuke runs his hands through his hair, head ducked in incomparable distress.

“You’d rather let the company die?” Shisui exclaims.

“I’ve been keeping it alive for the last five years, if you haven’t noticed!”

Sakura charges in without a hint of knowing the two men’s climatic conversation, a hand grabbing Sasuke’s and pulling him back to the foyer. “We’ve found the suspect. A man named Deidara. Officers Chouji and Lee have also gathered information regarding the last stopover of the van. We need to drive over there _now_.”

“Deidara’s notorious for theft and swindling,” Ino reads off from her iPad, both Sakura and Sasuke rushing out of the house and heading for Sakura’s sedan. “And not just ordinary theft. He’s stolen tons of diamonds in Iwa. He had an absolute pardon from Senator Onoki and is still very much on the loose.”

“Any records on murder?” Sakura asks as she takes the shotgun, Sasuke getting behind the wheel.

“Two counts of frustrated murder, but acquitted. Mostly he’s part of crimes carried in groups, assassination of diplomats,” Ino announces. “Very skilled in bombs.”

Sakura inhales, nodding at Ino. “Anything else we need to know?”

“I’m sending you the exact location of the grocery bombed two hours ago. That’s where he was last seen,” the blonde says. “We’ll send you the rest of the report we might find helpful. For now, best of luck. Hit me up for backup.”

“Copy that,” Sakura fastens her seatbelt and attaches her phone to the car’s utilities for the GPS. Sasuke gears the engine to a start, and although hardly anything startles him, Boruto from the rear-view mirror seated in the backseat does the job.

“Get down this instant, Boruto!” Sasuke orders, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “This is not the time to play hero.”

“What if something happens to us, and to you? I can’t let Hinata go through that,” Sakura adds, not unkindly to an extent, more worried than angry.

Boruto sighs, his shoulders hunched, his eyes perched on his wobbly fists. “I just… I just want to see Sarada okay. I have to go.”

Infuriated, Sasuke in his impatience pushes the gear lever for a clutch, and then hits the accelerator, as they speed down the road, headlights switching on as it starts to rain. The windshield wipers monotonously swing back and forth, until Sakura turns on the tiny screen on her navigator.

Horrified at what she’s discovered, Sakura nudges her husband. “Sasuke, look.”

“What are those?”

“They’re some of the photos from the mart we’re heading to,” Sakura observes. “God. They blew it up.” She zooms in on the sprayed portion by the cashier, just above a man covered in blood cowering for his dear life. It appears to be a red cloud, suspended in a black dusk background. “Sasuke, look at this vandal. Have you seen it before?”

Confirming his worst instincts, Sasuke clenches the wheel tighter, knuckles bare in white at his force. There’s not enough time left.

“It’s the Akatsuki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS LITERALLY TOOK A WHILE TO WRITE I'M SO SORRY. But thank you for staying with this fic up to this point. Two more chapters! For now, please forgive me for taking such a long time before I manage to update this. This chapter's the longest so far. Reviews are always loved and welcome.


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